


The Butterfly Effect

by derryday



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, Dimension Travel, Doppelganger, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Karnaca (Dishonored), M/M, Magic, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Not Dishonored 2 Compliant, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 95,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26427118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derryday/pseuds/derryday
Summary: The assassin's head was struck from his shoulders with a meaty crack. It fell in a perfect arc as the body slumped sideways and fell, spraying blood down the front of Jessamine's blouse.The strangerlooked like him.That wasCorvo's facelooking back at him, a little younger perhaps, his skin darker, his hair shorter...He'd appeared out of nowhere, popping into existence much like their attackers had. He hadn't wasted his time with a stab or slice at the assassin's back; he'd just cut his head clean off, staggering with the force of his own blow, blood slicking his sword.--In which Corvo Attano, captain of the Grand Serkonan Guard and interdimensional traveler extraordinaire, has had enough of this bullshit.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Geoff Curnow, Corvo Attano/Jessamine Kaldwin
Comments: 58
Kudos: 260





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi my name is Derry and welcome to Jackass.
> 
> This is not the longfic I should be working on, but it is the plot bunny that dragged me into a dark alley, bludgeoned me with feels, and made me promise to write it under pain of death. So here we are!
> 
>  **Additional warnings:**  
>  • semi-graphic memories of past mutilation,  
> • mention of past sexual assault not directly involving any named character, and  
> • mentions of unacknowledged trauma.  
> If you need more information to decide whether you can safely read, feel free to message me on [Tumblr](http://derryday.tumblr.com/ask) or email me at the address provided on my ao3 profile. ♥
> 
>  **A Note on Karnaca:** I know precious little about the city because my Dishonored 2 escapades have been rudely thwarted by Jindosh's very sexy but frightening Clockwork soldiers. I've incorporated some canon things that I do know of, but I've mostly relied on my old pre-DH2 headcanons.
> 
> Detailed gushing about all the friends who held my hand & encouraged me to follow. For now, I _really_ hope you enjoy this first chapter. :D

The assassin's head was struck from his shoulders with a meaty crack. The sword cut through his neck like butter, catching only briefly on bones and cartilage. The head fell in a perfect arc. It sprayed blood down the front of Jessamine's blouse.

The body slumped sideways and fell. The head rolled once, then came to lie on its side. The eyes were still open, the mouth parted in surprise.

Emily let out a shrill scream. Her dark eyes were huge in her pale face as she struggled in the black-clad man's hold, kicking at his shins and digging her nails into the leather of his coat.

Caught in a cloud of green fog, Corvo groaned through his teeth and fought harder against his invisible restraints. His lungs burned with a breath he could not pull in. He was floating, bound from head to toe, unable to so much as wiggle his fingers--his ribs hurt, invisible ropes were cutting into his flesh as he tried to struggle and _he couldn't move--_

The stranger _looked like him._ That was _Corvo's face_ looking back at him, a little younger perhaps, his skin darker, his hair shorter--but unmistakably, undeniably him.

He'd appeared out of nowhere, popping into existence much like their attackers had. He'd stumbled at first, nearly running headfirst into one of the pillars that supported the gazebo. 

Then he'd fallen on the red-coated assassin like a man possessed. He hadn't wasted his time with a stab or slice at his back; he'd just cut his head clean off, staggering with the force of his own blow, blood slicking his sword...

Even as Emily's scream echoed, the masked man who held her was stumbling away. His head turned frantically from side to side, like he was looking for someone to give him orders. Then the air around him grew shadowy and thick, and they both disappeared with a muted pop.

The green spell loosened. Corvo sucked in a tiny mouthful of air. His heart hammered so hard he could feel it behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth and _pulled_ on his immovable arms, his eyes watering from the pain.

Suddenly, a metallic click came from his left. Jessamine had seized Corvo's fallen pistol, and leveled it at the stranger, pulling back the hammer.

"Don't move," she said, her voice like steel though her hands shook. Her hair had come half undone in her scuffle with the assassin, the elegant twist drooping loosely onto her shoulder. "Drop your sword."

The stranger complied. He set his bloodied sword down on the stone floor, out of the way of the puddle that spread slowly from the assassin's corpse. The hilt was quite broad, the blade bending in a graceful arc in the Serkonan fashion.

The other Corvo raised his hands, placating. He kept his gaze fixed on Jessamine, and Corvo took him in in confused glimpses--his hair was shorter than Corvo's, and there was a thick, ragged scar on his cheek--

"Peace, your majesty," the man said. "I mean you no harm."

He _spoke._ The hair on the back of Corvo's neck stood on end. The pistol's barrel wavered wildly in Jessamine's hands. She whispered, "What--?"

The fog evaporated, releasing Corvo at once. He landed painfully on his back, his head striking the stone. Stars burst in front of his eyes. His chest spasmed and he coughed, pulling in a desperate lungful of air.

Then he was on his feet, breathless and sickened from the green fog. He stumbled in front of Jessamine, pointing his sword at the stranger. His throat was thick, his mouth filling with sour saliva. He shook off the magic and bared his teeth, though his palm was slick with sweat around the hilt of his sword--

One wrong move and he'd strike the man down, even if the assassin's body was currently bleeding sluggishly from its severed neck.

The stranger with Corvo's face backed away a few steps, his gaze flickering between them. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said again.

"Who _are_ you?" Jessamine snapped. Her cheek was already swelling up from the assassin's backhand. "How did you--? Who--?"

The man's lips pulled into a small, wry smile. "Can't you guess?" he said, and sketched a little bow. "Corvo Attano, at your service."

Jessamine shouldered past him. Corvo tried to catch her by the elbow, push her back behind him, but she shook off his touch. He caught a brief glimpse of her face--her skin was reddening, strands of hair tangling around her ears, her teeth bared in a snarl.

"You lie," she growled. She pointed the pistol at the man's chest, her finger curling around the trigger. "What have you done with _my daughter?"_

The man's eyes widened. "Your what?"

"My _daughter!"_ Jessamine hissed through her teeth. The pistol's muzzle now dug into the stranger's chest, rumpling the expensive-looking fabric of his red coat. "That man _took her,_ right when you appeared!"

 _"Shit,"_ the man said. He raked a hand through his hair, sighed and stared off towards the river. "The black-eyed bastard didn't say anything about a child."

Jessamine _growled_ at him. Her hands were white-knuckled around the pistol. "Where. Is. She."

"I don't know!" the man said, his voice rising in distress. He glanced at Corvo, beseeching, as though he expected his mirror image to come to his aid. "I didn't-- I didn't know she'd be here!"

Jessamine shoved him back a step. She firmed her grip, her finger tightening dangerously around the trigger. "Not good enough."

"I'm sorry!" the stranger said. He looked alarmed now, eyeing the pistol. It was oddly gratifying to see him flounder. "We don't-- look, I'm here to help, and we don't have _time_ for this!"

Then Corvo's hand was on Jessamine's arm, quelling. Heart in his throat, he waited, and let out a small sigh of relief when her grip on the pistol loosened, blood flowing back into her knuckles. 

Jessamine took a slow step back. Her chest heaved around shallow breaths. The ornamental pin slipped out of her drooping hairstyle and fell to the stone floor with a clink.

Corvo took her place and pushed her slightly behind him, leveling his sword at the stranger. If there was any more blood to be spilled here today, he would not allow his Empress to sully her conscience.

The man still had his hands raised, palms facing towards them. _His_ hands, Corvo realized, with a queasy jolt--the broad palms, the short nails and blueish shadow of veins at the wrists... those were his.

He wore the bright red uniform of the Grand Serkonan Guard. Dust clung to the gold buttons, a coarse pale powder that Corvo knew well from the streets of Karnaca.

The hair on the sides of his head was cut short, nearly shorn, and the top had been left longer, curling slightly. His skin was a shade darker than Corvo's, the way Corvo imagined his would be if he'd spent the last sixteen years baking under the merciless Serkonan sun.

A livid scar marked his right cheek. It started at the corner of his mouth and cut a jagged line up towards his cheekbone, like a horrible half-smile.

"Corvo," the man said to him, seeking his gaze. Their eyes met, and a cold shiver crawled down Corvo's spine. Those were _his eyes,_ brown with flecks of amber; his frown, nestled between his brows, and his laugh lines at the corners of his eyes...

"Corvo, listen to me," the man said, his hands still up, entreating. "There's no time--"

Corvo blinked slowly. His nausea was back, churning in his stomach. This couldn't be happening. He was faced with a near-perfect mirror image of himself, which had just saved the Empress' life... 

The small differences made his head ache. The hair, the darker tone of his skin... the man spoke with a noticeable accent, rolling his r's and softening his consonants the way Serkonans did.

Jessamine stepped forward, her shoulder brushing his. "Emily--" she began, her eyes sparking dangerously.

The doppelganger shook his head sharply. "We need to leave, and leave _now,"_ he insisted, "before Burrows realizes his plot failed!"

The color drained from Jessamine's face. _"Burrows?"_ she repeated, her voice high and cracking. 

She took a stumbling step back. Her wild gaze swept over Corvo, then across the fallen assassin and the dead lackeys. She stared towards the stairs where the Spymaster had left them. "He was the one who--?"

The stranger nodded. He shot a cautious look at Corvo slowly knelt to retrieve his sword. When Corvo made no move to stop him, he took his weapon and wiped it off on the headless assassin's coat.

"He paid our friend Daud here to kill you," he said. "It was meant to grant him control of Dunwall and make him Lord Regent."

"Daud--?" Jessamine began, her forehead creasing. Her eyes were still bright with shock. "But _why_ would Burrows..."

The man sheathed his sword, straightening. He looked around the gazebo, the weather-bent trees and the river below. He glanced at the Tower, which loomed tall and grey beyond the gardens, the blue and gold banners stirred gently by the wind.

He said, "Where's Geoff?"

Jessamine pinched the bridge of her nose. She was still pale and her hands shook visibly. _"What?"_

"Geoff Curnow," the stranger repeated. He'd knelt again and was rifling through the dead assassin's pockets, tossing aside a few coins. "He should be a-- captain of the guard..."

Corvo nodded sharply, drawing both of their attention to himself. _'I saw him earlier. He should be downstairs...'_

"Good," the man said. He crouched over the dead assassin and patted the lining of his coat, looking for hidden pockets. "We can trust him."

Corvo's temples stung, though whether from the green fog or the impossibility standing before him, he didn't know. It took him a moment to realize that the stranger with his face had understood his signing.

The man rose abruptly, cursing. _"Fuck,"_ he spat, nudging the dead man's leg with his boot. He propped his hands up on his hips and sighed sharply, visibly struggling for composure. "Fucking useless..."

"How do you know Captain Curnow?" Jessamine snarled. Her hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, like she longed to bury one or both of them in the stranger's frighteningly familiar face. "How did you _get here,_ how--"

The man raked a hand through his strangely-cut hair. A muscle twitched in his scarred cheek as he gritted his teeth, stress deepening the lines around his mouth. He stared down at the dead assassin, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

Corvo firmed his grip on his sword. He didn't think the man who wore his face would attack Jessamine after he'd just saved her life. But his frustration was... concerning, and seemed ready to erupt into rage.

"Please, your majesty," he said tightly, holding on to his composure. "I will explain everything once we are safe, but for now, we _have_ to get you away from here."

Jessamine pressed her mouth into a thin line. She stared at him, all of her formidable focus trained on the stranger--her gaze traveled across his scarred face, down the front of his bright red coat. 

The silence stretched. Corvo's hand cramped around the hilt of his sword. He found himself listening hard, trying to hear something beyond the rush of blood in his ears, running footsteps or clanking weaponry... Though the gardens were quiet and the assassin lay dead at their feet, the back of Corvo's neck still prickled with impending danger.

"Fine," Jessamine said at last, her voice hard. "But if you make _one_ wrong move..."

"Yes, yes," the man said. "Death and dismemberment." He sent Corvo a small, tense smile. "I don't doubt your ability to inflict great pain if you so choose."

Corvo looked stonily back. He slipped his sword back into its sheath, but slowly, and held up a hand to stop Jessamine when she tried to give him back his pistol. She raised an eyebrow, but held on to the grip, her finger resting on the trigger guard.

The gesture did not go unnoticed. The stranger glanced between them, and his smirk turned briefly wistful before it faded.

"Come on," he said, gesturing towards the stairs. "We don't have much time."

***

They followed the stranger to the wrought-iron gate. Jessamine was pale but mostly composed, occasionally touching her swelling cheek.

Corvo felt like he was floating above himself, and he struggled to shake off the strange sensation. His senses felt muted and at the same time quite sharp. Their footsteps seemed loud and muffled all at once. 

He forced another breath deep into his lungs, shaking his head slightly to clear it. This was not the time for him to lose his cool. He couldn't afford to be shocked, not when the back of his neck prickled with foreboding and his body felt like a coiled spring, ready for a second, bloodier fight even as his mind reeled within.

They took the steps one at a time. The stranger walked slowly, listening for every little noise. He moved like someone unfamiliar with the stairs, and Corvo wondered at that--shouldn't a doppelganger be just as familiar with the royal gardens as he was himself?

The roses were on their last legs, their petals wilting and blackening at the edges. They gave off the overly sweet, overbearing smell of flowers past their prime. The scent barely reached him. Thorns snagged at Jessamine's sleeve when she veered too close to the wall, and the faint scraping noise echoed strangely in Corvo's ears.

Halfway down the stairs, they ran into Geoff, who was walking briskly, taking the steps two at a time, wearing a tense frown.

Corvo snorted. He couldn't help it. He choked down the rest of his slightly hysterical laugh. The other him had said they had to find Geoff, and now here he was--slightly windswept and flushed, like he'd been running. The only thing that would make any sense would be if he woke up.

"Corvo!" Geoff said, spotting him. "I heard gunfire, are you--?"

Then he caught sight of the other Corvo, and fell abruptly silent. He stopped in the middle of the stairs, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword.

His mouth opened, then closed. He stared between them, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. He said very quietly, "What in the Void is this?"

"No time to explain," the stranger snapped. He swept his arm towards Corvo. "Do you trust Corvo here?"

Geoff's gaze flicked between them. Sweat beaded at his temples. He had that wide-eyed look that Corvo was sure he'd worn too, and was probably still wearing--the flickering stare of one who had cause to doubt his own sanity.

 _"Do you?"_ the other Corvo repeated impatiently.

"Yes," Geoff said. It was almost a gasp. He drew himself up. "What's--"

The stranger nodded briskly. "Then you can trust me. We need to get to your apartment, right now."

Jessamine swung her head around to stare at him. Geoff's mouth dropped open. He raised one hand weakly to his temple, like he was genuinely questioning what his senses told him. "What...?"

 _"Now!"_ the man commanded. He looked at Jessamine. "Take your hair down and wipe off your make-up."

Corvo bristled at his tone, but the stranger was already undoing the buttons of his jacket, shrugging out of it and holding it out to her. "Here, put this on. --Corvo, put your hood up."

Jessamine yanked the remaining pins out of her hair, letting them clatter to the ground, and rubbed both hands hectically down her face. Her eyeshadow left streaks of blue on her fingers, the black color on her lashes smudging below her eyes and giving her a tired, strung-out look that was not entirely out of place.

She pulled on the red jacket without protest. It dwarfed her much the same way as Corvo's dark blue coat did, on those rare occasions when she wore it after nightfall, when Corvo dozed bare and sated in her bed and she'd remembered some important letters that waited to be signed on the small, perpetually untidy desk in her bedroom...

The red fabric hid the wet, dark stain down her front where the dying assassin had sprayed her with his blood. Her hair dropped heavily down her back, a long, tousled fall of black.

From the Tower came a distant clamor of voices. A door slammed somewhere. From this distance, it was impossible to tell for sure, but Corvo thought he heard General Tobias' commanding baritone.

Corvo shared a tense look with his doppelganger, who spun around to Geoff. "Is the waterlock working?"

"It was half an hour ago," Geoff said faintly.

"Go send the technicians away. Do it," he added impatiently when Geoff did not move right away.

The commanding tone made Geoff flinch. Shock and disbelief had carved a deep furrow into his brow, but at least he had not yet leveled a weapon at the man, unlike Jessamine and Corvo himself.

Unexpectedly, the stranger's face softened. He took a step closer and put his hand on Geoff's shoulder. "It is good to see you," he said quietly. His thumb stroked the short, graying hair at the nape of Geoff's neck. "You look well."

Geoff hadn't quite winced at being touched so unexpectedly, and with such familiar affection. But he leveled a puzzled look at the stranger, then stared at Corvo, who shrugged. 

He went back down the stairs without another word. As soon as he emerged into the sunlight he straightened his back, trying to look calm and unfazed. He strode away towards the bridge and the waterlock.

The stranger watched him go, oddly wistful. He craned his neck to peek around the corner, where Sokolov had stood painting when Corvo had arrived. Now, the easel was empty, and there was no sign of Sokolov or the High Overseer, though the tins of paint still sat forgotten on the table.

Jessamine caught Corvo's eye. The red jacket looked startlingly bright against the pallor of her face. The bruise on her cheek was darkening to a blueish sheen.

She glanced warily at the stranger, then turned her back to him and signed to Corvo, clumsy but insistent, _'Are you alright?'_

It took Corvo a moment to comprehend the two taps of the edge of Jessamine's hand into her outstretched palm. Then confusion drifted in, like a cloud passing through his skull. Why was she asking _him_ how he felt? He wasn't the one who had nearly died, who'd been attacked and almost killed...

Emily's scream still echoed in his ears. His daughter's shriek of fear had left a wound in him, digging deep just under his ribs. He saw her pale, frightened face every time he blinked.

He took a deep breath and nodded to Jessamine. He had to protect his Empress, and somehow bring back Emily. How he felt, how the ground seemed to tilt dizzyingly when he looked too long at the man wearing his face, was irrelevant. 

More shouting came from the Tower. No bells had been rung yet, but there was a definite commotion. Many footsteps clattered across pavement, becoming muffled when the soldiers reached grass. 

A bolt of nervous energy shot through Corvo, making him shift on his feet. He imagined he heard the hiss of swords being unsheathed...

A crunch of gravel announced Geoff's return. He ducked back into the shadows by the stairs, his hair a little windswept. "The technicians are gone," he reported.

"Good," the stranger said. He'd noticed the noise too, and his nostrils flared with tension, his hand tight around his sword. Corvo noticed with some confusion that his counterpart wore no pistol; he'd always found firearms to be a valuable addition to his arsenal.

Now he pushed himself off the wall and gave them a brisk nod. "Let's go."

***

Geoff's apartment looked the same as it had just before the start of Corvo's voyage: a little cluttered, but well-kept and cozy.

The stranger did not relax until the door was closed and locked behind them. He moved through Geoff's apartment like he owned the place, striding across the dining room to yank the curtains shut.

Geoff let him. He just stared numbly as the man went into the tiled bathroom and looked into the claw-footed bathtub, like he expected someone to be hiding there, then closed and latched the small window.

The boat ride had been tense and silent. An alarm had been raised at the Tower when they were halfway across the Wrenhaven, the bells clanging insistently and echoing far across the water.

None of them had asked where the stranger had gained the knowledge how to operate a waterlock. He'd expertly pushed buttons and pulled levers until the great pumps started working, groaning and gurgling as the water level lowered.

They'd left the boat and hurried through the streets, led by Geoff on a roundabout path to the apartment he shared with his niece. Corvo mechanically put one foot in front of the other, counting the hard, hurried thumps of his heart against his ribs. 

They ducked into dark doorways and little side streets to avoid the soldiers of the City Watch, who seemed overall confused rather than hostile. A number of them were running towards the clang of the Tower's bells, hoping, perhaps, that they could help with whatever had happened.

It had taken Corvo a moment to realize that he was about to walk into Jessamine's back: she'd skidded to a stop in the middle of the street. 

His heart clambered its way up into his throat. Corvo darted in front of her, half-drawing his sword. He glared up and down the street, searching for anything that might have made her falter, but saw nothing.

"Wait," she whispered, then when the man with Corvo's face kept walking, she snapped more sharply, "I said _wait."_

Geoff stopped and turned around. The stranger did too, automatically glancing behind Jessamine to see if anyone was following them.

Jessamine was deathly pale. In the deep shadows between buildings on the edge of the Estate District, her eyes looked pitch black. Her jaw trembled, but when she spoke, her voice was steady.

"We don't know what happened when the bells rang," she declared, in the flat tone of someone who'd rehearsed what they were going to say in their head. "Perhaps the man who took Emily came back."

Hope pierced Corvo's chest. It was like a searing touch of heat after an entire night in the bitter cold, so relieving that it was painful. He took a step back towards Jessamine, blood rushing loudly in his ears.

"He did not," the stranger said, with forced calm. "He's not stupid, your majesty. None of them are. And," he added, when Jessamine opened her mouth, "none of them would experience a change of hearts."

Jessamine drew herself up to her full height. Under the heavy red coat, her shoulders straightened. "How would you know?" she challenged. 

Corvo recognized that mulish look. He knew it well: the jut of Jessamine's chin told him that she was ready and willing to dig her heels in. 

A shudder ran down his back. He did not know whether it was the right decision to follow his doppelganger, but he did agree that it was best to get Jessamine away from the Tower, if Burrows really was behind the whole thing--

But the thought of Emily, perhaps mysteriously returned to right where she'd been taken, fearfully looking for her parents amidst running guards and shouting soldiers, twisted his heart until he could hardly draw breath. Indecision churned in him. He glanced between Jessamine and the man who wore his face, waiting.

"The man may have been distraught to see Daud killed," the stranger was saying, more or less patiently, "but he's still following orders. He'll take your daughter to their hideout like he was told."

"Whose orders?" Jessamine snapped, her eyes flashing. "And how in the _Void_ do you know that?!"

The stranger took an urgent step towards her. "Your majesty, we're running out of time!" he insisted. "I will explain everything once you are safe--"

"I am not _safe,"_ Jessamine snarled, her hands balling into fists under the too-long red cuffs, "so long as my daughter is out there, frightened and in mortal peril!"

"Nobody will hurt her!" the stranger said loudly, his patience fraying. "Burrows needs her!"

With a jolt, Corvo realized that the expression he saw on his own face, the tightness around the stranger's eyes and his frown, the hard clench of his jaw, was-- fear. His doppelganger was _afraid._ His gaze darted up and down the street, his whole posture a coiled spring ready to snap.

Jessamine drew back. What little color there'd been drained from her cheeks again. "Burrows," she whispered, disbelieving. "Why would he..."

The stranger wiped a hand down his face, his fingertips just skimming the scar on his cheek. "Please, your majesty," he said tightly, forcing himself not to shout. "We _have_ to get you off the streets."

In the ensuing silence, Corvo shifted from foot to foot. He stared at the pavement, then at the mouth of the next alley. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. _Emily,_ each beat seemed to cry, Emily, _Emily,_ what if she was back, what if... But his Empress was in mortal peril, and his other self had not yet led them astray...

For a few long, excruciating seconds, Jessamine had glared at the stranger, unmoving. Then her shoulders slumped, and she gave a short, sharp nod. 

A light seemed to go out in her eyes, leaving them dull and lifeless. "Lead the way, Captain Curnow," she said, and even her voice sounded hollow.

Now, in the relative safety of Geoff's apartment, Jessamine was tense and quiet. Her outburst seemed to have drained her. When Geoff drew out a chair for her, stumbling through an apology for the mess on the table, she sat. Then she stared around at the dining room, the tightly packed bookshelves and the overflowing writing desk in the corner, the wilting flowers on the table in between candle drippings...

"Some water, I think," Geoff said anxiously. He disappeared into the adjacent kitchen.

Slowly, Jessamine took off the red jacket. She pulled her arms out of the sleeves like she was moving through molasses, and turned to hang it over the back of her chair. She looked down at her chest for a moment, at the assassin's blood that stiffened the fabric of her blouse.

The floorboards creaked under the stranger's weight. He approached Corvo with careful steps, like he thought he might be held at sword-point again.

"Corvo," he said. "A word, please?"

Jessamine's head whipped around to stare at them. It was the most animated Corvo had seen her since the alley. Her small frown was a relief--it was better than the almost cowed silence.

Corvo raised his eyebrows at his doppelganger, unimpressed. The man looked uncharacteristically hesitant. "I learned some sign language before I came," he added.

 _'How much time did you have?'_ Corvo asked, skeptically. It was petty, perhaps, but he made a point to sign fast.

"A week," the man said, with a small smile that pulled on his grotesque scar. "Come now, you know how fast we are at picking up new skills."

Corvo looked at Jessamine. He wouldn't go anywhere without her permission. She was relatively safe here, but he hated the thought of leaving her alone while she kept looking blankly down at the blood on her blouse...

"Go on," Jessamine said, then cleared her throat. Her voice firmed as she spoke. "I imagine you have some things to talk about."

The sound of her own voice seemed to reassure her. A bit of color crept back into her cheeks. She sat back in the chair, her hands folded stiffly on the table to avoid touching her soiled clothing.

"--not much, but I found some apple cider," Geoff was saying, shuffling out of the kitchen carrying a tray. The back of his neck was flushed red with embarrassment. "It's-- this room is not usually this untidy, your majesty, I do apologize for the--"

He yelped when he bumped into the table. The glasses on his tray tilted precariously, but remained standing. 

"It's quite alright, Captain," Jessamine said. She mustered a small smile for him. "I understand you were not expecting guests."

Corvo let out his breath in a slow sigh. He bowed to his Empress, and allowed the man who wore his face to lead him into the small bathroom and close the door.

***

With the window closed, the bathroom was already turning stuffy and hot. Geoff's tin of shaving cream sat on the sink. It was dotted with impatient greasy fingerprints, like Geoff had hurried through his morning routine today.

A moldy smell hung in the air, one that Corvo barely noticed anymore; the building was old, and had been since Geoff moved in. Geoff had told him once about his niece's recent attempt to conquer the recurring damp; the noxious cloud of chemicals had left a persistent stink that lingered for days.

The stranger sank back against the closed door and wiped a hand down his face. His eyes were bright, almost hungry, roaming across Corvo's face as though he was trying to memorize every wrinkle and pore.

 _"Fuck,"_ he said. "You-- you really do look just like me."

Corvo looked back, silently. For the first time, he realized that the stranger must have felt that same jolt of shock that had hit him, there in the gazebo, even before the assassin's severed head had struck the ground.

"I know you think I'm some kind of impostor," he said now, "or an evil spirit with your face..." 

He stared at the floor for a moment, struggling to reassemble his composure. He cleared his throat. "We don't have time for me to earn your trust, so I will tell you some things that will hopefully make it easier for you to believe I am who I say I am."

The words sounded stilted, rehearsed, like the stranger had given a great deal of thought to what he would say to him beforehand. The back of Corvo's neck prickled warily. 

He signed slowly this time, taking care to make himself understood. _'Who are you saying you are?'_

The man gave him a small, somewhat weary smile. "You," he said plainly, spreading his hands. "From a different world--another dimension, if you will--that is very much like this one."

Another _dimension?_ Corvo tried to keep his face impassive, but couldn't help the way his eyebrows climbed even higher in disbelief. What in the Void was this man talking about? 

"--the biggest difference, as I understand it," the stranger said, "is that you were sent to Gristol at the age of eighteen, and I was not."

Corvo suppressed a gasp. That would explain the accent, at least, and the red color of his coat, and the shape of his sword...

The man ran his hand through his hair, leaving the longer strands sticking up every which way while the shorn sides rasped against his palm. _"Fuck_ that cryptic little shit," he said, on a small, incredulous laugh. "I can't believe he fucking forgot to mention the Empress' daughter--"

He took a deep breath, rubbing both palms down his face. "Let me just--" he said, holding up a finger to plead for patience. "Just listen."

Corvo nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

The stranger squared his shoulders and widened his stance. It was a gesture Corvo knew well, and it set his teeth on edge, a small shiver running down his back. He stood like that when he felt most uncertain, when he wanted to project confidence regardless of whether he really felt any.

"You have a sister named Beatrici," the stranger said. "Your mother was always ill when you were young. You and your sister turned to stealing to make ends meet... only food, at first, but soon came money, and medicine if you could get your hands on it..."

Perhaps the most unnerving thing of all was hearing his voice. 

It sounded almost like Corvo's, but not quite--a bit lighter, less rough. The way Corvo's voice would have sounded, perhaps, if he hadn't spent almost two decades barely using it at all... 

When he'd first lost his tongue, the fresh wound in his mouth had made speaking too painful. Even after it'd healed, he'd discovered that talking intelligibly was now impossible. 

At the time, he'd been caught in a red haze of rage, vowing to never so much as clear his throat in the company of another person again... he would be as utterly silent as they'd tried to make him... he would let his voice wither and die until his throat no longer remembered how to produce sounds.

When he'd come to Gristol, he hadn't counted on Geoff, though, who within their first month of acquaintance had made him laugh so hard tears prickled in his eyes. Or on Jessamine, who drew laughter and sighs and chuckles from him, and coaxed all sorts of other noises from his lips between the soft, expensive sheets of her bed...

And then came Emily, turning the remaining dregs of his perhaps childish resolve on its head. He had spent countless evenings cradling his infant daughter against his shoulder, adopting the slow, swaying walk that all parents had to learn, and humming to her until his little-used throat was sore to help her sleep.

Still, this man's voice sounded-- not quite like what remained of his. It was just different enough to make Corvo's skin crawl. There was something sickeningly strange about seeing words come out of his own mouth, with fluency and ease.

Corvo formed his signs slowly, eyes narrowed to catch every little flinch of reaction on the man's face. _'How do I know you are not in league with the assassin?'_

The stranger looked at his hands, frowning, then shot Corvo an embarrassed glance. "Am I-- what?"

Corvo held back an impatient sigh. Even slower, he asked, _'Were you working with the man who--'_ And he quickly drew his finger across his throat, miming the killing blow that the Serkonan sword had dealt.

The man's eyes widened. "No, I-- no!" he protested instantly. "I came here to help, I told you-- why would you think that?"

Something cracked under his self-assured veneer, an unexpected flash of vulnerability. He seemed genuinely hurt, and his look of baffled betrayal made Corvo itch with the urge to take a step back.

 _'You appeared by the same means as he and his men did,'_ he pointed out.

His doppelganger shook his head vigorously. "Not the same, no. They-- use magic, yes, and so do I, but-- it's a little different..." 

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his scarred cheek. "It's hard to explain. Will you just listen?"

Corvo hesitated, glancing at the door. No sound came from the street outside that he could hear, and the quiet murmurs of Jessamine and Geoff's voices that filtered through the door sounded calm, unexcited. He nodded.

"You won the Blade Verbena at the age of sixteen," the stranger began. "You nearly lost your second duel because your opponent cheated. You still feel guilty that Duke Abele had him executed for throwing sand in your face. The last battle was the hardest. You sprained your left shoulder, but refused to tell anyone or get treatment for it, though it hurt for well over a week..."

Goosebumps rose on Corvo's arms. His stomach dropped sickeningly, like he'd missed a step going down some stairs. He shook his head stubbornly. _'Most of that information is available to whomever has the money to go digging.'_

"You have a scar on your ribs, on your left," the man continued, unfazed, "where you got caught on a barbed wire fence when you were nine. You'd stolen some food and were running from the guards..."

He pulled his shirt out of his trousers and showed Corvo the scar. It was right where Corvo knew his own to be, jagged and faded with age and the stretch of his skin as he'd grown... It was the exact same pale line, and he was sure that if he touched it, the mended skin would feel the same as well, strangely slick against the texture of the unmarked skin around it...

Corvo's resolve crumbled at the edges. Something primal in him rebelled profoundly against the thought that he was meeting _himself,_ but it sounded halfway probable... all these details, describing things only he would know, but...

The stranger pulled his shirt back down. Corvo caught sight of a fresh-looking, half-healed wound on his chest, a straight line intersecting what seemed to be a large ring.

And the scar he bore on his own hip, pitted and knobbly, was missing. It'd been a gunshot wound, acquired when he'd been twenty-three and Jessamine just sixteen, and he'd taken a bullet meant for her, fired from the gun of one of her father's enemies...

A wave of faltering disbelief rolled over him. Corvo took a small step back. _'I do not believe you.'_

 _If he didn't come to Gristol,_ a small, reasonable voice pointed out, _he never jumped into the path of that bullet, and there's no reason for him to share that particular scar..._ but Corvo pushed it aside.

The man pressed his lips together. He did not look surprised. He shook his head and blew out a labored breath through his nose. A brief flash of regret sparked in his eyes before they went flat and cold as he braced himself.

"When you were ten," he said, inflectionless, "you saw a Serkonan soldier abuse a whore. Sometimes you still have nightmares about it, though you think you should not. The first time you were with a woman you couldn't get it up. The second time you got drunk first, hoping that your body wouldn't betray you, but it did, again. The third time--"

Corvo held up a hand for silence. His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. A sour, queasy feeling swelled in his stomach, thinning his breath until it felt like sucking in air through a straw.

The man sighed. He turned to lean against the wall, glancing at the door, then lowered his voice. "And you're in love with her. With Jessamine."

This time, Corvo did flinch. A breath forced itself into his lungs, an audible gasp. His heart flew into his throat and pounded hard, and he almost staggered under a sudden surge of wounded, unreasoning rage.

Even on the few faltering occasions when he'd tried, in the privacy of his bedroom, he had never been able to say Jessamine's name aloud. The crisp sibilants were beyond him. He hated how impossible even the softer consonants were, with the remaining pitiful stub of his tongue too small and stunted to reach the bony ridge behind his teeth... 

And yet this man, this other version of him, said Jessamine's name so casually, like it took him no effort at all--because it did not. His Serkonan accent lightened the "J," replacing some of the friction with lilting melody...

"It's what made you easy to find." Attano watched him carefully. He'd stepped away from the door, like he sensed the crackling tension in the room, and preferred to have his weight balanced evenly when it broke. "Your desperation to save her, your rage and grief when you were sure you would fail..."

Corvo's feet prickled with the urge to propel him out of the room. He was not a violent man, but he wanted to bury his fist in the doppelganger's face, feel bone and cartilage crunch under his knuckles... His skin crawled all over, like it would peel itself off his body in primal protest. 

He wanted to wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze, or shake him hard until he confessed to how he _knew_ all that, down to the humiliating details of his first pitiful attempts to become intimate with women--

The rim of the bathtub dug into his hip. Corvo reached for it blindly, hissing through his teeth when his palm hit cold porcelain. He clutched at it, grateful for the chill that spread through his hand.

 _Focus,_ he scolded himself, squeezing his eyes briefly shut against a rush of dizziness. His temples ached. _Focus..._

This wasn't about him, not really. It didn't matter how raw he felt inside, where the man's effortless elocution pierced him. This was about Jessamine, and Emily, who was Void knew where, behind held against her will...

Corvo gulped down a shallow breath. Then another, and another. Finally, he peeled his fingers off the bathtub and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. 

_'You looked for me?'_

Attano nodded. His stance relaxed and he let out a small, relieved breath. "I had to find something to latch on to, you see. I could've dropped out of the sky anywhere in this dimension... or even in the Void itself. I needed an anchor. I--"

His face twisted. He seemed to realize he was babbling, and let out a short huff of self-deprecating laughter. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and Corvo was somewhat gratified to see his hand shake faintly.

"I couldn't use Geoff. He-- I know the fabric of his soul, but this Geoff doesn't know you like he knows me. This version of you," he added, waving at Corvo.

Corvo's head still spun slowly, but his thoughts cleared a bit, like a damp haze of clouds retreating as the sun rose higher. _'You know Geoff?'_

It was utterly bizarre to watch his own eyes watch him fingerspell Geoff's name, the stranger's mouth moving along with the letters before his frown cleared into understanding. "My dimension's version of him, yes," he said.

Corvo thought about asking how they had even met, if he'd never gone to Dunwall in the first place, but chose not to. It was already beyond odd to imagine that his other self had stayed in Karnaca, a soldier in the Duke's employ... this Corvo Attano had likely never seen Dunwall, or been desperately seasick on his long journey to Gristol...

Again he looked at the man's tanned skin, the strange haircut... until he found himself staring at the livid scar on his cheek. 

This one, too, was thinned by age. But the flesh was still gnarled and reddish where it'd mended, and now that Corvo looked closely, he could see little white marks, dotted unevenly along the scar... it took him a moment to realize that those were likely left over from the stitches that'd sewn the wound back together.

"They tried to cut out my tongue too," Attano said, touching his cheek. "I've got the scars from the flogging as well. But they were interrupted, and the fool holding the knife was drunk, so..." 

He gestured at his face. Corvo winced. He could vividly imagine what had happened.

Somehow, the cold well of suspicion in him warmed a little. If that one accursed patrol of the Karnacan city watch had tried to silence Attano too, that meant that he, too, had threatened to report them...

A testament, hopefully, to his character, which couldn't be that different from Corvo's if he'd tried to do the right thing. At the very least, he couldn't be evil or malevolent... could he?

Attano peered at Corvo, his gaze lingering briefly on his mouth. "I'm guessing there was no interruption for you."

Corvo shook his head once. Attano grimaced a little, but didn't make any further comment.

He straightened up instead, squaring his shoulders like a soldier standing at attention as a commanding officer inspected his gear. "All I want," he said, staring at Corvo insistently, "all I came here to do, is to avert the ruin that would've befallen you, had the Empress died. Nothing more, nothing less. Do you believe me?"

Corvo looked silently back. There was no way to be completely sure whether this man was telling the truth. He knew himself to be notoriously bad at lying, but could the same be said for this other Corvo? 

Still, Corvo's bristling instinct of danger had quieted down, making room for a strange sensation of-- not kinship, but familiarity.

He looked into eyes he normally only saw in the mirror. Brown and dark, speckled with amber when the sunlight hit them just so. There was nothing deceptive in them, no fast, uneasy blinking. He stood absolutely still, hardly even breathing, waiting for Corvo's verdict.

This man was him, but not. He'd never traveled to Gristol, he hadn't bowed low to Jessamine's father and his wife while Duke Abele prattled on about his extraordinary prowess in battle. He hadn't spent months aching with homesickness until Geoff had invited him to go drinking and started to learn sign language that very same week.

He'd never vowed to protect his future Empress to his dying breath. He'd never felt the light grip of Jessamine's gloved hands around his as he'd risen Lord Protector and the audience chamber burst into cheers...

But it was still him. Brasher, perhaps, and certainly much more prone to profanity, but still Corvo Attano. And he couldn't imagine that there was a version of him, in _any_ dimension or world, that would bring harm to Jessamine.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, and nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, thank you SO much for your feedback on chapter 1!!! ;_; It was _way_ more than I hoped for tbh, I thought maybe 2 people would read this thing, so it made me extra happy to see more readers than I had expected. ♥ You are all _seriously_ amazing. ♥
> 
> A note about Callista: I know it's not entirely logical that Corvo has never met her although he's good friends with Geoff here, but since they seem to be strangers in canon, I wanted to stick with that.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, and happy weekend! ♥

Jessamine's glass was almost empty when they got back. She looked better, too; her eyes were no longer as hollow, and she was taking small, polite sips from the rest of her cider.

Geoff stopped talking when they came in. He'd remained standing, as was proper when in the presence of a high-born lady. Corvo heard the tail end of some comment about the weather, and hid a smile--trust Geoff to fall back on conversational staples in times of great stress and unexpected company.

Both of them looked at Corvo, Geoff expectant, Jessamine more wary. Corvo signed, _'We can trust him,'_ crossing his wrists and pulling both hands slightly away from his chest, closing them into loose fists.

He lowered his hands, turned so his hip hid his right hand from Attano's view, and quickly finger-spelled, _'For now.'_

Jessamine didn't blink. She didn't even look openly at Corvo's hand, though the minute tightening of her lips told him she'd understood. "Very well," she said. 

She swept her gaze up and down Attano's body, from his scar to the dust-dulled leather of his boots. She said, "It appears I owe you my life."

Attano shrugged, irreverent. "Eh, it's nothing." He laughed suddenly, with a high-pitched, manic edge. "You could say I was in the area."

His smile faltered as Corvo and Jessamine stared at him. With some surprise, Corvo spotted a sheen of sweat that'd beaded at his temples. He'd paled under his tan. Their conversation in the bathroom had taken a toll on him too. 

Corvo winced, a little ashamed of himself--obviously the other man was reeling just like him, and it'd been unkind of him to assume otherwise.

"Now," Jessamine said, flattening her hands on the table. Despite the drying blood that soaked the front of her blouse, the set of her jaw was determined. "Will you tell us what's--?"

The loudspeaker outside switched on, interrupting her. Shrill feedback whistled through the air, then the crackles and pops cleared into a voice: _"Attention, Dunwall citizens. This is an emergency broadcast. Please remain calm."_

It was General Tobias who spoke, sounding breathless and harried even through the metallic distortion. _"It is with a heavy heart that I must share these tragic news. Not even an hour ago, Empress Jessamine Kaldwin was murdered."_

A short silence fell. Geoff gave Jessamine an urgent look, as though he had to remind himself she was here, in his dining room, and indeed very much alive. 

_"So far, it is unclear what exactly transpired at the Tower. Our honored Spymaster, Hiram Burrows, has vowed to work tirelessly to provide the leadership and stability that the Empire will need in the coming weeks._

_"The whereabouts of Lady Emily are currently unknown. She appears to have been abducted. The City Watch is presently searching the streets for the fleeing murderer of our fair Empress._

_"Please remain calm in the coming days, and do not set foot outside your homes unless absolutely necessary. Anyone found loitering will be detained. If you encounter any suspicious personnel, report at once to the nearest City Watch officer."_

There was a fizzing crackle along the connection, then the broadcast ended. The loudspeaker clicked off.

"Well, fuck," Attano said into the silence. "The bastard didn't waste any time."

Jessamine's face was smooth and cool as marble, her eyes near-expressionless. A courtly mask, Corvo knew, a thin veneer that afforded her more composure than she would've had otherwise.

"Please sit," she said, gesturing at the chairs like they were in a council meeting, and not the Curnow family's cluttered dining room. "All of you," she added, glancing at Geoff.

He bowed. "Thank you, your majesty," he said, and pulled out a chair for himself.

Jessamine folded her hands again, resting them on the table. Her knuckles were pale with tension. In a carefully controlled voice, she asked, "What in the _Void_ is going on here?"

Attano stared at her, his eyebrows lifting. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked back. "A coup. Conceived, planned, and set in motion by your Spymaster himself."

Jessamine's throat worked as she swallowed. "Burrows," she said, cautiously, as though saying his name too loudly might summon the man himself.

"Yes. --Your majesty," Attano added, an afterthought.

"That cannot be," Jessamine said, decisive now, scowling. "I spoke to Hiram just this morning. He's worried about the plague, as are we all. He's still loyal--"

_"Is_ he?" Attano interrupted her, leaning forward on his elbow. "Is he really? Has he not questioned and opposed you at every turn since the plague came? Has your gut feeling not warned you of him louder and louder?"

Jessamine blinked twice. Her facade cracked, and she bit her lip, and Corvo knew that Attano's words had struck true.

He'd never warmed up to Hiram Burrows himself. He did not disapprove on principle of the appointing of a Spymaster, but... something about Burrows had always rubbed him the wrong way. Corvo had chalked it up to personal preference; he knew himself to be awkward and hard to befriend, so he hadn't thought anything of his immediate dislike.

And Jessamine... she'd trusted the man. Not blindly, perhaps, and more than once she had complained to Corvo about his rigid, traditionalist views and unwillingness to give an inch when he thought she was in the wrong. They'd never been the best of friends--not like Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin and his Spymaster had been, spending their evenings smoking cigars and discussing politics on one of the Tower's many balconies...

Not so with Burrows. But a certain degree of fondness and familiarity had grown between him and Jessamine, as the years passed and they worked together...

"Your loyalty is misplaced," Attano said, "though it does you credit." He smiled a little. "I suppose you've never felt the bite of betrayal like this. It is always hardest to understand the first time it hits..."

He trailed off, thoughtful; he did not seem to realize how condescending he'd sounded. Jessamine's nostrils flared as she released a carefully controlled breath. The blue of her eyes turned to unyielding steel.

Geoff coughed delicately, cutting off any sharp remark she might have made. He looked insistently at Attano. "Will you tell us who you are?" 

Attano turned to him instantly, the matter of Burrows forgotten. His gaze warmed, his rigid shoulders relaxing, and the corners of his mouth turned up. It was perhaps the first real, unreservedly affectionate smile Corvo had seen from him. It transformed his whole face, warming his detached, mildly superior demeanor. 

"I'm Corvo," he said. His eyes were bright and fond. "Corvo Attano."

Geoff gave him long stare, then looked at Corvo, who lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. Attano just smiled softly, his gaze trailing across Geoff's face as though to memorize his features.

"And so is he, of course," Attano added after an uncomfortable pause, tilting his chin at Corvo. "Though he belongs in this world, and I do not. The two of us grew up much the same, with one difference. I was not sent to Gristol."

Though he knew this already, Corvo had to hide a small flinch. It still seemed utterly unfathomable that there was a universe out there where he had stayed in Karnaca... he couldn't even imagine how differently his life--Attano's life--must have been.

"How did you get here?" Jessamine asked, reluctantly curious. For the moment, she seemed willing to drop the matter of Burrows.

"I have a... friend," Attano began. He hesitated, wrinkling his nose, then amended, "well, more of an acquaintance... he told me about all of you. He said that in another dimension, my other self's greatest failure would set in motion a chain of events that'd--"

"Watch your mouth," Jessamine warned, interrupting him. Her voice was cold and forbidding. "I will not listen to Lord Attano being slandered."

Attano glanced between them, then half-shrugged. "As you wish," he said, and to Corvo he added, "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

Although it felt like he'd been kicked swiftly in the ribs, Corvo made himself nod. Chest aching, he struggled to pull in a breath, balling his hands into fists under the table. His greatest failure, indeed. 

He'd been utterly _useless._ Caught by the strange green fog, helpless to do anything but watch as his daughter was abducted and the assassin struck Jessamine across the face--

"Another _dimension?"_ Geoff had propped up his chin in one hand, and was half-covering his mouth with his fingers, like he was trying hard not to gape openly at Attano. "How is that possible?"

Attano shrugged. "I didn't ask for the specifics. I only received the means to come here about two days ago. Exactly thirty hours, to be precise, if my... friend... is to be believed..."

"You knew where and when the assassin would come for me," Jessamine said.

"Daud. Yes." Attano rubbed his chin, considering. "We had a bitch of a time trying to get the timing right--"

Jessamine shook her head slightly. "What-- what else do you know?" she asked, her voice hitching. 

A muscle twitched in her jaw. Her next breath trembled, then her calm shattered like a cracking coat of paint. She leaned forward across the table, and her hands had curled into fists. 

_"Speak!"_ she almost shouted. Her eyes were bright with fury. "What do you know? _Where_ have they taken Emily?!"

A rattle came from the front door, making them all jump.

The door shuddered in its frame. The knob tried to turn, the wood groaning as someone leaned their weight against it. A puzzled pause, then metal clinked as a key was inserted into the lock.

"Shit!" Geoff said, staring at the door. He'd gone pale. "Callista!"

He was on his feet in seconds, pulling at Corvo's shoulder and making shooing motions at Jessamine at the same time. "Quick, hide!" he whispered. "It's my niece! She cannot find you all here!"

Attano tripped over the legs of his chair as he got up, making it tumble to the floor. Geoff shoved all three of them through the kitchen and into the small pantry. He slammed the door shut, hard enough to make a hanging sausage dangle into Corvo's face, then his footsteps hurried out into the hallway.

Corvo ended up wedged between Attano and Jessamine. At the back of the small room, Jessamine let out a strangled huff; she'd ended up face-first in a tangle of drying herbs. 

The sausage bumped against Corvo's forehead. Attano alone was not suffering any indignities; he had one hand on the door, listening intently.

The front door opened, then closed. "Uncle!" a female voice called, fearful and breathless. "Thank the stars you're here! I almost got detained, I-- have you heard?" 

Her voice went briefly muffled, like she had embraced her uncle. Corvo listened hard, but heard no more footsteps. Geoff must have intercepted her in the corridor.

Attano relaxed slightly. His right arm went slack, and Corvo sucked in a sharp, startled breath: his counterpart had drawn his sword half out of its sheath, ready to storm through the kitchen and-- what? Kill Callista Curnow, just because she'd made the mistake of coming home?

"Callista," Geoff said. His voice shook a little. "You are unharmed?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Callista replied. She already sounded calmer, her uncle's presence soothing her fear. "They're saying the Empress is dead..."

A pause. Corvo didn't hear anything, but he could imagine Geoff's troubled frown. "Callista," he repeated. "We-- I don't have much time. Do you trust me?"

"What?" Callista asked, startled.

"Do you trust me?"

Another short silence fell. "Yes," Callista said at last, slow and puzzled. "Of course, I--"

"Listen very carefully." Geoff took an audible deep breath, thinking quickly. "I want you to go into your bedroom and lock the door, and listen to an audiograph, loudly. Play whatever music you feel might bring you solace, but don't come into the dining room, and don't try to listen at the door."

_"What?"_ Callista breathed, incredulous. "Uncle, what is going on?"

"Please, Callista," Geoff said, imploring. "Do as I say. There are-- things at work that you cannot know. I'll explain everything if and when I can, but for now, I need you to listen to me."

Callista was silent. Corvo had never met her, but he imagined she was biting her lip, shifting her weight indecisively. He exchanged a glance with Jessamine; her eyes and nose were reddened from the herbs. On his other side, Attano was utterly still.

Geoff tried again. "I know you're confused and frightened--"

Though it came out shaky and thin, Callista laughed a little. "You don't need to talk to me like I am still fifteen," she said. It sounded like she was smiling wanly. "I'll go. I trust you."

Geoff released a long breath. "Thank you."

Callista hesitated. "Uncle?"

"Yes?"

Her voice was muffled once more; perhaps she was hugging her uncle again. "You'll be safe, won't you? Whatever is going on?"

"Of course," Geoff said, with a cheer Corvo could only tell was forced because he knew him well. "Safe as houses."

Retreating footsteps echoed through the apartment. A door was closed, then locked with an audible click.

Moments later, Geoff was back, opening the pantry door and stepping aside to let them out. He looked like he'd aged five years in the past minutes. The lines around his eyes were deeper, his hair mussed like he'd raked his fingers through it in frustration. Corvo's heart twinged with sympathy--he knew Geoff hated lying almost as much as he did, most of all to family.

Music drifted down the hallway as they sat back down at the table. Corvo recognized the piece, though he didn't know its name--it was a quick and upbeat waltz. The volume rose until it would reliably muffle any conversation through the thin walls of the dining room.

Corvo waved in Attano's direction to get his attention. Perhaps he gestured more sharply than he would have if he'd been attempting to talk to Jessamine or Geoff. But he had no more patience for niceties, not when the most important question of the day was still unanswered.

_'Where is Emily?'_

Attano frowned at his hands. "Who?" he asked.

Corvo blinked back at him, confused. It took him a moment to realize that, out of habit, he'd used Emily's name sign. 

The three of them had come up with it together, on Emily's insistence. She'd taken a long time to settle on something, going back and forth between all her favorite animals, the color of her nicest dress, and her favorite dessert. 

Jessamine had suggested 'princess' or 'daughter,' but Emily had declared that those were boring. Corvo's suggestions had mostly revolved around the letter E. Finally, Emily decided that since she couldn't pick just one favorite color, she wanted to use 'rainbow'.

It was an expansive gesture made with the spread fingers of both hands, the left holding still while the right drew the half-circle shape of it. It was as familiar to Corvo as Jessamine's name sign--the finger-spelled letter J, followed by 'black,' like her hair.

Of course Attano did not know it. It wouldn't have made any sense if he had. But somehow, it gave Corvo a strange, alienating chill--that there was a version of him in this world who did not know Emily like he did, who'd never played hide and seek with her, and whose office was not decorated with her colorful drawings...

"--My daughter," Jessamine explained, with the small wince and brief hesitation that told Corvo she'd almost said 'our'. 

She rallied quickly, fixing Attano with a look that was just short of a glare. "You said you would help us recover her," she pointed out.

Attano grimaced. "Yeah, well, I... see, my friend didn't mention her at all. Not a word. I had no idea you even had a child, or I would've--" He frowned, gazing thoughtfully towards the window as he let the scenario play out in his head. "Made the jump earlier, I suppose, or brought more weapons..."

"I do not _care,"_ Jessamine said loudly, talking over him, "whether you knew of her, or what you would've done differently if you had. Every Void-damned moment we sit here is another second a ten-year-old girl spends in the company of murderers and kidnappers, and I will not discuss eventualities with you."

There was no doubt in Corvo's mind that if she'd still held the pistol, she would've pointed the muzzle at Attano's chest again. Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Corvo couldn't help but wince in sympathy, though his other self did not look too perturbed to bear the brunt of her ire. 

"I want a _plan,"_ she snapped, "and if you have nothing useful to add, you will stay quiet and out of our way as we discuss how to retrieve her." 

"Right," Attano muttered. Thoughts visibly raced past behind his eyes. His gaze flickered across Jessamine's face, then firmed with resolve.

"I'll help," he said quickly. "And you're right, we must find her as soon as possible. I know a way to locate her, but I--"

He coughed. It was hard to tell under his darker skin, but Corvo thought the tips of his ears looked a little pink, the way his did too when he was embarrassed. "Your majesty, I'm going to have to ask you an indelicate question."

Jessamine's eyes narrowed, but she nodded at him to keep going.

"Is there any chance you might have something of her father's?" Attano asked. "Hair or blood, ideally, but a personal possession would suffice. Or a letter he wrote," he added, when Jessamine stared at him. 

Corvo held himself very still. He hardly dared to breathe. A prickle of anxiety crept up his back, chilly with foreboding. 

The silence stretched. Geoff had finally covered his mouth with his hand, and Corvo saw only his worried eyes, soft with sympathy as he looked at Jessamine. Though Callista had been fifteen and nearly full-grown when she'd been entrusted to his care, if anyone could guess how Jessamine felt, it would be him.

Attano glanced between all of them, a furrow of confusion forming between his brows. "A book he touched?" he offered.

Jessamine avoided looking at Corvo so pointedly that it looked painful. Her jaw clenched, her breath trembling as she struggled to come up with something, anything she might say in response...

She wouldn't betray his involvement, Corvo knew; though she did not entirely share his concerns, she'd always been respectful of Corvo's fear of what her court would say. No word would pass Jessamine's lips, and they would sit here for another hour, perhaps, trying to come up with a different way to find their daughter...

He closed his eyes for a moment. His pulse beat hard in his belly and palms. _Emily,_ he told himself, and thought of her dark, curious eyes, the precious ringing of her laugh, the surprising strength of her little arms as they wrapped around his neck... _For Emily._

Corvo leaned forward. He gave himself no time to second-guess his snap decision. As soon as Attano looked his way, he quickly signed, _'I am Lady Emily's father.'_

Whenever Corvo had dared to imagine what it might be like to shape those words--the loose, L-shaped gesture tapping his temple--he had always thought it would feel like stepping off a cliff. The clench of his belly, the rush of panic as he realized what he'd done... he'd choke on his next breath, his heart stopping, then hammering madly against his ribs...

Slander and accusations would be thrown his Empress' way, for sleeping with a Serkonan brute... Jessamine would endure the storm calmly, with squared shoulders and a few clipped words, but Corvo would feel the gossip like blows against his ribs. 

Each contemptuous whisper and giggle would be a reminder that this time, it was him who'd brought her harm, when he'd sworn to protect her to his dying breath... that it was his fault that her courtiers laughed at Jessamine behind her back, because he'd foolishly, selfishly dared to love her despite his low birth...

Now, there was none of that. Instead, all Corvo could think of was how long it'd been since he had had to finger-spell Emily's name. 

It felt strange, unnatural, not to use her name sign. He focused on that as Jessamine stared at him in surprise, and Geoff's mouth fell open, and Attano's eyebrows slowly climbed towards his hairline. 

His counterpart didn't look as stunned as Corvo had assumed he would, and some part of him felt obscurely annoyed. "Indeed?" was all Attano said. "Well, that certainly makes things easier."

Geoff closed his mouth, then opened it again. He took a strangled breath and said, "Corvo..."

And _there_ was the swoop in his stomach, the cold trickle of trepidation. He rubbed a frantic circle on his chest with one closed fist. ' _I'm sorry,'_ he told Geoff, looking pleadingly into his eyes with as much sincerity as he could muster, _'for not telling you. It was not only my secret to keep...'_

Jessamine moved slightly, an aborted gesture like she wanted to reach for him. Panic trickled through Corvo's control. Hang the court--what worried him now was _Geoff..._ what kind of friend was Corvo, to allow him to find out his biggest secret like this, told not out of trust but desperate necessity?

"Yes, I... I can see that," Geoff croaked. Two spots of color had risen high on his cheeks. "You..."

_'That does not mean I don't trust you!'_ Corvo insisted. He wanted to touch Geoff's arm, but couldn't while signing, and cursed his deficiency for the umpteenth time--

"Corvo-- _Corvo,"_ Geoff said. His hand was suddenly tight around Corvo's wrist, reassuringly warm. "It's alright. We-- we have more pressing matters to attend to. Just buy me a drink at the Hound Pits when this is all over and we're even."

He smiled, a little shaky perhaps, but genuine enough. Corvo made himself subside. Something in him quivered anxiously, urging him to keep explaining himself, to make sure his friend understood and did not feel slighted or hurt...

He just nodded instead, folding his hands to keep them still. This wasn't the time for that. 

"Alright," Attano said, rubbing his hands together. Excitement brightened his eyes, a self-satisfied smirk pulling on his lips. "I'm going to need both of your blood."

A different kind of rush passed through Corvo. He shifted his weight, ready to get up if Attano so much as breathed in Jessamine's direction. His sword was heavy on his belt, and he could have it in his palm faster than anyone would be able to blink--

"It's just for a tracking spell!" Attano said hurriedly, peering at Corvo with something like alarm. "I can use my magic to locate Emily with your blood!"

Jessamine wrinkled her nose like she'd smelled something foul. "Magic?" she repeated, disapproving.

Attano sighed impatiently. "For the Void's sake, _yes._ How do you think I got here?" He yanked open the laces of his shirt, pulling the neckline down. _"Look."_

Jessamine gasped, rearing back. Even Geoff flinched a little.

A mess of cuts spread across Attano's chest, relatively fresh. The wounds were red and raw, half-healed at most. They seemed to have been both cut and burned; some of the surrounding skin peeled and blistered around the scabs.

The marks formed a strange sigil, made of circles and dashes that looked like an ancient rune of some sort. A few of the scabs had cracked, and blood had seeped out where Jessamine had pressed the muzzle of Corvo's pistol earlier.

"It's the Outsider's Mark," Attano said into the stunned silence. "I'm told that normally it is only a black tattoo, but he had to carve it into me so it'd hold through my travels. To this dimension," he added, at Geoff's questioning look.

"That's..." Jessamine leaned her elbows on the table and rested her forehead against her folded hands. She let out a shaky breath.

Corvo wanted to reach for her, put his hand on her arm in silent support. He kept his hands to himself. In private, he might have offered her a reassuring touch; here, he would not disrupt the moment Jessamine needed to reassemble her composure.

When she looked back up, the mask was back in place. "Alright," she said, with grim determination. "Magic. Fine. --What do you need us to do?"

***

Fifteen minutes later, Corvo and Jessamine both had a small gash on their arms. Geoff had produced a rumpled but clean handkerchief for them, embroidered with his niece's initials, and cut it in half.

Corvo had tied his half around Jessamine's arm, and she had done the same for him. Attano had disappeared into Geoff's kitchen, carrying the small bowl in which he'd collected drops of their blood. 

He'd kicked the door half-shut behind him. Corvo couldn't see what he did, but he heard the clink of porcelain and a splash of water. The sting of the cut felt distant, like far-off chatter too remote to understand.

A few minutes later, Attano came back out, bringing with him a strange, thick scent of hot metal and salt. There was a fresh spot of blood on his shirt, and he looked a little green around the gills, though his eyes were focused and determined.

"I've got her," was all he said. "Let's go."

Geoff had made good use of the time by penning a quick message to his niece. He placed the letter onto a dresser in the narrow hallway, then stood in front of Callista's door for a moment, his face tight and drawn. Music still came from within, loud enough that perhaps the neighbors might complain.

Corvo touched his elbow and, when Geoff looked his way, gave him his best reassuring smile. _'You will be back here before you know it.'_

"I hope so, old friend," Geoff said quietly. "I hope so."

He opened the dresser and took out a holstered pistol and a small box of ammunition. He shoved the box into the pocket of his coat and wound the belt around his waist, securing it quickly. The leather was cracked with age, but although the pistol had some old-fashioned engravings along the barrel, it was shining from a recent cleaning.

Jessamine cleared her throat. Her gaze went back and forth between Geoff and Callista's door, and she said, "You do not have to come with us..."

Geoff drew himself up. He looked haggard but determined. "I have a sworn duty to this Empire, and to you. I won't desert you now."

For a moment Jessamine hesitated, waiting for him to rescind his brave words as his niece's music played on, a stark reminder of whom he was leaving behind. When he did not, she gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Captain."

They went out into the stairwell single-file, Attano in the lead. Geoff shut the door behind them, and briefly rested his palm on the wood. Callista's music followed them, the melody growing fainter as they went down the stairs.

***

Attano was an excellent fighter.

Corvo scowled at his back as they sneaked down a deserted alley. Anger had begun to churn in his belly as soon as they'd encountered their first City Watch soldiers, and its acidic burn was not going away.

They were not competing to see who was faster or stronger. They had far bigger problems; the Void knew Emily wouldn't care who came to save her, so long as someone did. But it still irritated Corvo--childishly--how fast Attano was, how graceful. 

Maybe it was because their fighting styles were subtly different.

Where Corvo was more prone to caution and defense, Attano was brash, almost showy. He'd tied a handkerchief around his head to hide his face, but even through that, Corvo could tell he bared his teeth in an approximation of a grin whenever he crossed blades with anyone.

"Come on!" he taunted a young soldier who was the last one standing of the patrol that lay unconscious at their feet. "Fight me or bring me someone with balls who will!"

The young man swallowed hard, then flew at Attano with a wavering battle cry. He couldn't be a day older than eighteen. His form wasn't the worst Corvo had ever seen, but no match for his other self.

Attano struck him sharply on the wrist with the flat of his Serkonan blade. The youth yelped and dropped his sword, and got the pommel of Attano's sword in the face for his trouble. 

He slumped forward onto the pavement, unconscious, blood trickling from a rapidly growing bump on his forehead.

The first time Attano buried his sword hilt-deep in a City Watch officer's chest, Corvo grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the nearest wall. Incredulous anger surged through him, and he was not gentle, a dark part of him appreciating the dull thunk as the back of Attano's head hit the masonry.

_'Don't kill them!'_ he signed furiously, shoving the sweep of his index finger along his other palm almost into Attano's face. _'It isn't their fault they've been given traitorous orders!'_

Attano blinked at him, then said, "You do know they'd kill us on sight?"

_'First of all, they've been ordered to bring loiterers back for questioning,' _Corvo thrust the two-fingered clawing gesture at Attano, nearly touching his chest. _'So no, they would not. Secondly, even if they were under orders to kill, it wouldn't be right to murder men whose only crime was to be on shift on the wrong day!'___

__His other self grimaced, rubbing the sore back of his head, then watched his hands. Corvo had probably lost him somewhere. A week of even the most rigorous studying and memorizing of signs would probably not have covered the subject of fighting and death._ _

__Attano lifted one shoulder in a shrug, looking quite unconcerned for someone who'd been shoved at by the Empress' irate Lord Protector. "As you wish," he said, a little sullen._ _

__He was like Corvo, but... different. Irreverent. Harsher, somehow-- at least Corvo hoped that he did not share that cold gleam in his eyes. He disposed of obstacles without so much as flinching, like the guards were pawns on a chess board to be toppled with a careless gesture... but he did at least refrain from killing anyone else._ _

__He gripped an officer of the City Watch by the throat, spinning him around and slamming him face-first into a lamppost. The metal clanged unpleasantly. Blood spurted from the officer's nose. He slumped to the ground when Attano let go of him._ _

__"Your majesty," Attano called towards the mouth of the street, "you can come out now!"_ _

__Jessamine poked her head around the corner. The brilliant red of Attano's coat faded out her complexion, making her look paler than usual. She looked at Corvo questioningly, and only when he nodded did she venture out of her hiding spot._ _

__Attano let out a small snort of amusement. He didn't seem to mind terribly that Jessamine still did not quite trust him._ _

__Geoff walked a few paces behind Jessamine, holding his pistol tightly. It was strange to see--Corvo usually occupied that spot, trailing behind the Empress, watching for approaching danger._ _

__Metal hissed as Attano sheathed his sword. He rubbed at his chest, where more small stains had bloomed on the fabric. When questioned, he had only said that his wound was leading him towards Emily. Apparently whatever magic he'd worked made it bleed more._ _

__He winced at the sting, then lowered his hand. That strange smell still surrounded him, salt and metal and now blood. He locked eyes first with Corvo, then with Jessamine. "Follow me."_ _

____

***

Looking up at the dark, dilapidated buildings of the Flooded District, Jessamine whispered, "I haven't been here in years."

Water splashed under their feet, wetting Corvo's boots. Jessamine was worse off, with her more delicate laced shoes; she had to be ankle-deep in water. Geoff had somehow managed to get spattered with mud up to his knees.

Attano stared around at the broken windows, rotting wooden doors and broken pavement. "How does an entire district get swallowed up by the sea," he asked, "and nobody does anything about it?"

Jessamine gave him an affronted look. "We _did,"_ she snapped. Her shoulders hunched defensively; Corvo knew well what a sore spot the decay of the former Rudshore Financial District still was for her. _"You_ try evacuating half the city while your Parliament urges you not to listen to your councilors..."

Attano held his hands up in surrender; he seemed to be doing that a lot. "Alright, alright. I'm not here to find fault with your government."

"Then don't," Jessamine said darkly. She gestured at the alley up ahead. "Which way now?"

The silence was eerie. It was hard to remember that they were still in Dunwall, in what had once been a bustling and lively district. It felt more like they were in some entirely separate city, half-sunken, water covering the streets.

Moss and algae had grown on the cracked masonry. Lampposts leaned low over the streets. The pavement was covered in brackish water that, unlike the Wrenhaven River, smelled like salt. Most of the windows were broken. Dirty shards of glass crunched under their feet. 

It wasn't long before they began encountering men in whaling masks. Their large, insect-like visors reflected the graying light. They were quick and nimble, certainly more challenging to fight than City Watch officers. Their masks muffled their groans and choked-off cries when they fell to Attano and Corvo's blades.

The Whalers seemed distraught, floundering. Some of them made strange warding gestures, then flinched back when nothing happened. Others thrust their palms forward in the same motion that'd summoned the paralyzing green fog, but there wasn't even a flicker in the air.

If Corvo hadn't known that was impossible, he would've assumed that they had felt their leader's death somehow, and were reeling in the wake of some strange bond that'd been severed.

When Attano ducked under the wide swipe of a sword, reared up and plunged his blade up the Whaler's armpit and through his throat, Corvo gritted his teeth, but did not say anything. He couldn't help but be less careful too, hitting harder and faster than he'd done when they'd faced the City Watch.

A small voice at the back of his head clamored for him to _stop_ and slow down--he did not know who these masked men were, whether they had actively contributed to the plot to murder Jessamine... he shoved it aside, though a small sting of guilt reached him from his conscience. 

A shorter, black-clad figure emerged from a decrepit house, sword raised, lunging for Jessamine. Heavy boots splashed through big, shallow puddles. 

A shout stuck in Corvo's throat, but Geoff was fast. Before Jessamine could so much as step back, Geoff had stabbed the attacker in the stomach, then yanked his sword up. 

The Whaler cried out. Blood spattered the ground. The dying assassin pitched backwards, head cracking hard against the pavement, and the mask slipped. 

Geoff stared at the pale face of a young man, a boy almost, with freckled cheeks and short blonde hair. His eyes were half-closed in death, his mouth still open in surprise.

"That's-- this is just a boy!" Geoff blurted out. He took a stumbling step back, his eyes huge as he sought Corvo's gaze.

Jessamine, who'd darted over to a crumbling wall and half-raised Corvo's pistol, looked between them. For just a moment, something shocked and uncertain quivered in her expression before she shut it tightly away. 

"A boy who was going to finish the other assassin's job," she said, straightening up. Her voice was measured and steady. "Thank you, Captain Curnow."

Geoff nodded tightly. He looked around for somewhere to wipe off his sword--he did not seem to want to do it on the dead boy's clothing. Finally he just slipped it back into its sheath, looking faintly ill.

They advanced further down the streets. Corvo recognized some of them, from the few times he'd accompanied Jessamine here, back when Rudshore had not yet been this waterlogged shell.

Some of the dilapidated houses showed signs of habitation. Scraps of fabric were nailed across some windows. Whale oil lamps were placed strategically in a small, secluded market square.

On the first floor of what had once been a bank, they ran into a small group of Whalers. Corvo heard them before he saw them; the masks muffled their voices, but raised as they were, the words of their argument were still distinguishable.

"--should just wait for Daud to get back!" someone insisted. "He'll tell us what to do!"

"He's dead, you fool!" shouted another man. _"Dead!_ Our tether has snapped!"

"Maybe it's just a fluke," a third man put in. "The powers could come back..."

"A fluke?! None of us can work transversals anymore--"

That was when Attano ran past Corvo, his boots pounding against the tiles. He left wet bootprints on the tiled floor. His raised sword gleamed in the light, the bright shimmer leaving an afterimage in Corvo's eyes.

Corvo tried to grab him, but his fist closed only around air. With an aggravated growl, he darted after his reckless counterpart.

The tide of battle swept over them. Corvo had to duck under multiple swift strikes, dodging the smallest of the assassins who tried to get at him with a dagger. Attano struck at one's neck, and his sword got stuck with a wet squelch.

The Whaler's eyes were wide as saucers. Blood spurted from his wound. Attano grunted in annoyance and yanked his weapon free, then struck again, unnecessarily. The man's head tumbled to the floor with a sickening thud. The body followed suit, slumping like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Corvo whipped his sword around to block a menacing slash from the shortest Whaler. The impact shuddered up his arms, and steel screeched against steel. The man feinted to the left and his sword slashed through Corvo's coat at the hip, and Corvo's reflexes took over. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd buried his blade in the man's abdomen.

It was a mercy, perhaps, that the whaling mask made it impossible to see how old this one was, or whether he looked surprised or dismayed. From the blood that followed when Corvo pulled his sword free, he knew he'd hit his descending aorta.

The Whaler drew a last gurgling breath, muffled by his mask, and crumpled to the floor. Then there was silence. 

From somewhere came the slosh and drip of water. Wind whistled through the cracks where the aged mortar had crumbled away from the bricks. The air smelled of coppery salt.

"Tenacious fuckers," Attano said, nudging one dead body with his boot. He was only a little out of breath.

Corvo knocked sharply on the wall, and Geoff and Jessamine ventured in too, Geoff in the lead. Jessamine looked around at the carnage with strangely blank eyes. Her face was waxy and pale, and while she was not shaking visibly, her jaw was clenched hard.

Attano rubbed a hand over his chest, flinching when the heel of his hand came away stained brownish red. His shirt was soaked, fresh blood welling occasionally to soil the fabric, and Corvo felt a reluctant prick of concern.

But his counterpart gave no further sign that his injury bothered him. For a solid twenty seconds he stared up at the ceiling, his gaze moving over the cracked masonry, hardly breathing at all.

Then he was jogging down the wide corridor, pointing towards a flight of stairs up ahead. "This way!" he called.

***

"You're not Corvo," was the first thing Emily said, loud and wary.

Her voice echoed along the hallway. Corvo quickened his steps, tripping over cracked and broken tiles in his haste. 

His heart raced, hammering almost painfully against his ribs. He'd taken the stairs two at a time as soon as Attano had called to him, and still he was too slow. Nothing short of taking flight could have been swift enough to carry him to his daughter's side.

Attano smiled thinly. He stood in the doorway to a small room, on one of the upper levels of the dilapidated bank. He'd been utterly sure that Emily was behind the door; so sure, in fact, that he'd called for her to step back and then kicked it in.

Wood splintered everywhere just when Corvo reached the top of the stairs. Bits and shavings clattered to the floor, spreading the stench of old, rotting wood. The high-pitched yelp that'd come from inside the room had been unmistakably Emily's voice.

"Correct," Attano told her. "I'm still going to need you to come with me."

A puzzled pause. Then Emily exclaimed, "You can _speak?!"_

"I am from... elsewhere," Attano said, and then Corvo was shoving past him into the small room and fell to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain of a broken tile digging into his shin.

Emily cried out, a small wail of surprised relief, and ran towards him. He only caught a blurred glimpse of her wide, damp eyes, and then she was in his arms, her shoulder knocking painfully against his jaw. She clung to his neck with all her strength, her hands clenching in the collar of his coat.

"Corvo!" she said, almost a whimper. "Corvo, Corvo--" 

She shook all over, and one of her fists had seized a handful of his hair, but Corvo barely noticed the painful pull. He held her as tightly as he dared, leaning his cheek against her tousled hair and taking a deep, hitching breath--she smelled like sweat and tears, but not blood.

He smoothed one shaking hand down her back, trying to soothe the flutter of her ribcage as she struggled to draw breath. His throat ached. He wanted to never, ever get up from this spot, holding his daughter close and hoping that she drew some comfort from his presence...

"Who _is_ that?" Emily whispered against his ear, high-pitched and choked with tears. "He looks like you! I don't like him, he's strange!"

Corvo squeezed her in reassurance, then pushed her gently back, though she kept her fingers buried in the fabric of his coat. He looked at her, scanning her small body for injuries. 

Emily's clothes were streaked with dirt. The collar of her blouse was torn on one side, like she'd gotten it caught on something. Her hair was in utter disarray, her bow akimbo and tangled in some black strands. 

"It's safe," Attano called down the hallway. Footsteps instantly hastened up the stairs.

Her eyes were red from weeping, her cheeks blotchy. Corvo tried not to think of how she might have been dragged down the hallway, struggling against her captors... One knee of her stockings was torn, like she'd run and fallen.

Corvo carefully moved aside the torn fabric, but although Emily's knee looked a little raw, there was no blood to be seen. He looked back up at her. _'Did they hurt you?'_

"No," Emily said, sniffling. Her eyes swam with tears, her chin trembling. "They only-- they locked the _door..."_

_"Emily!"_

Jessamine was running. It was lucky she wore sturdier footwear than her more impractical high-heeled shoes. The gravel and splintered tiles didn't slow her down one bit. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with heartbreaking relief.

Attano's red coat slipped off her shoulders and went flying. One sleeve slapped limply against the wall.

"Mommy--?"

Emily's face went white. She let out a small, wavering cry, and clutched so hard at Corvo's shoulder that it hurt.

"It's not mine!" Jessamine was saying, hurriedly. She, too, dropped to the floor, sliding the last few steps, not even wincing when her left trouser leg tore somewhere with a dry ripping sound. "It's not my blood, Emily, I'm fine, I'm _fine,_ it's not mine--"

Her face was twisted in anguished relief, her eyes wet with tears. She held out her arms.

Then Emily was throwing herself at her mother, apparently beyond caring about the assassin's dried blood. She all but tried to climb Jessamine, her shoes leaving dirty imprints on her trousers.

"Mommy!" she sobbed. If she'd been only a little tearful before, she was properly crying now, small hitching sobs that shook her whole body. "The man-- and you-- he had a _sword,_ he..."

Jessamine closed her eyes, squeezing Emily tightly. Two tears ran down her cheeks, and she quickly dashed them away, sniffling. "It's alright," she said, her voice remarkably steady. "He's dead, Emily. He's gone. I'm fine. Everything will be alright now..."

Corvo's throat ached. He was dimly aware of Attano stepping away to speak quietly to Geoff, the two of them turning their backs to their close huddle. Attano bent down to pick up his coat.

He rested a hand on Emily's back. Her narrow shoulders trembled under his palm. Jessamine immediately tangled her fingers with his and clung hard, her nails digging deep into his skin. Corvo didn't care. He breathed slowly through the balled-up, painful relief that billowed upwards in his chest.

Seeing Emily cry _hurt,_ it cut and tore at his heart, but Corvo felt immeasurably grateful that they were here to comfort her now. He couldn't imagine how many tears Emily had shed alone.

Emily didn't cry for long. It was like she sensed the urgency of the situation; children were perceptive like that. She subsided into wet gasps and sniffles and finally released Jessamine's neck. When her arms came away, Corvo spotted red marks on Jessamine's neck where she'd clung tightly.

Like Corvo, Jessamine held Emily gently by the shoulders, looking her over. "Are you alright?" she asked, her voice thick with unshed tears. Her gaze lingered on her scraped knee. "Where are you hurt?"

"N-nowhere," Emily hiccuped. She looked up at her mother and choked out a mostly-dry sob. "Oh no, your _face..."_

Jessamine touched her fingers to her cheek, wincing when she encountered the bruise where the assassin had struck her. She seemed to have forgotten about it. "It doesn't hurt," she said to Emily, giving her a determined smile.

Jessamine stroked her daughter's damp cheeks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Listen, Emily," she said. "We're going to be just fine. But you'll have to be brave for a little while longer."

"Okay," Emily said. She sniffled loudly, dragging her snotty nose across her sleeve.

Jessamine winced, but didn't comment. "I want you to stick _very_ close to Corvo," she glanced at him over Emily's shoulder, "and do exactly what he tells you. If he tells you to run or hide or be quiet, you _listen._ Alright?"

"Okay," Emily repeated, nodding. Her back straightened, her narrow shoulders squaring.

Corvo swallowed hard. It was remarkable how resilient she was, how brave... Though she was only ten, there was already something of a future Empress in her.

At the same time, he wished with a stir of helpless anger that she wouldn't have had to be so brave--that she could've been allowed to cry for longer, and cling to her mother whom she'd almost seen murdered, and be carried home in Corvo's arms.

Emily wiped her face with the backs of her hands, leaving streaks of dirt on her cheeks. Jessamine tutted. She licked her thumb and rubbed it against Emily's cheek, and Emily grimaced and squirmed, trying to tilt her head away. "No, Mother, stop that!"

Attano stepped up to them. He'd hoisted his red coat rakishly over one shoulder. The bloodied marks on his shirt were half-dry, and he was smiling.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he said. Corvo gritted his teeth, his temper stirring; there was a mild, smug edge to his counterpart's smile, like he was silently congratulating himself on a job well done. "But we need to move."

He bent down and offered Emily his hand. Emily scowled at him, pressed herself against Corvo's leg, and took his hand instead.

Attano shrugged, unoffended. "Fine," he said, then turned to Jessamine. "We should leave as soon as possible."

"Agreed," Jessamine replied. She rose, dusting off the knees of her trousers. "But there is something we must do first."

***

"Nothing here," Geoff said heavily. He pulled his head out of a moldy cupboard and straightened up, digging his knuckles into his lower back.

"Damn it," Jessamine swore. She cast aside a slim folder she'd been perusing and pinched the bridge of her nose.

At the heart of the former bank, they had found a large hall that seemed to be the Whalers' headquarters. A flight of stairs ran up one wall, and great stone pillars supported a gallery above. One wall was plastered with maps and posters, and it took Corvo a moment to realize that most of them were the countenances of their former targets.

Jessamine's picture looked back at them in black and white. It was a good portrait, though the printing made her look sterner than she was. Its dark eyes seemed to follow them as they milled around the room, searching for clues.

"There must be _something_ here!" the real Jessamine had insisted, digging her heels in when Attano had urged them to leave. "A letter, a note--if we look, we _will_ find something incriminating to sabotage Burrows! --And the assassins are all gone," she added, gesturing pointedly at the window, from which they would've been able to see the corpses out in the street. "You saw to that."

Attano had stared at her, assessing. He'd pointed out that there hadn't been anything hidden in the red-coated assassin's pockets, and that it was unlikely they would find evidence here, strewn about in plain sight. 

"Very well," he said at last, sighing. "I guess it can't hurt to make sure you can reclaim your throne before I return to my world."

"I don't i>have a throne," Jessamine scoffed. "It is a perfectly normal-sized chair in my audience hall. --Thank you," she added, with some reluctance.

Corvo's pistol lay beside Jessamine on the table. She'd tried to hand it back to him, but he had told her to keep it for now. The back of his neck crawled with a sense of foreboding. The longer they stayed here, the greater the danger that some stragglers in whaling masks might return to their headquarters...

"We've been here too long," Attano muttered for the second time in as many minutes, to no one in particular. He didn't sound very urgent.

"But who _is_ he?" Emily asked once again in a loud whisper. She had attached herself to Corvo's coattails, going so far as to hook her fingers into his pocket when he stood still for long enough, and held on to his sleeve.

He'd offered her his hand to hold, but Emily had said, "I'm not a _baby,"_ and folded her hands behind her back. 

It hadn't stung, exactly, but he felt a stab of melancholy. It hadn't been too long ago that Emily had not thought twice before slipping her smaller hand into Corvo's palm. Sometimes it was hard to believe that ten years had passed since she'd nursed at Jessamine's breast and Corvo had ghosted the barest touch of his trembling fingers over the whorls of dark hair on her tiny head...

Either way, she was following him, and seemed to think he was the one with all the answers regarding Attano's presence. "He looks like you..." she said slowly, her forehead furrowed thoughtfully, "but his hair is a bit different, and his skin is darker..."

It was extremely rare that Corvo's patience for his daughter's inquisitive mind frayed, but now was one such situation. He blamed it on the pressure they were under. 

He found himself flinching at every little noise, expecting more assassins to come pouring out of the woodwork any second. Wind whistled around the building, hissing through the cracked masonry. Outside, the sky grew darker, clouds gathering as dusk began to fall.

_'I told you,'_ Corvo signed, and was relieved to note that he was still able to sign slowly, with more patience than he felt. _'He is from another world. It is much like ours, but different in some ways. He came to help.'_

Emily blinked up at him. "And did he? Help?"

Corvo nodded. Emily turned to look at Attano, who was elbow-deep in a wooden crate, rummaging around. From the occasional, muffled sound of shattering porcelain, he was not really attempting to be careful.

Jessamine pulled another drawer out of a half-rotted, lopsided dresser and fished out stacks of paper. Corvo pulled another book off the shelf he'd been working on. He leafed through the pages, then shook it, but though the binding creaked in protest, no secret documents fell out.

"Why did he cut his hair like that?" Emily asked. "I don't like it."

She wasn't as quiet as she thought. Attano let out a bark of laughter, muffling it quickly into his fist and turning it into an unconvincing cough.

Emily stared doubtfully at Corvo's other self. "Why can he speak? And what happened to his face?"

Corvo sighed a little, at last abandoning his half-hearted search. 

He sat down on an empty crate. The wood groaned, but held his weight. Emily drew close right away, putting her hands on his knee; she seemed to have forgotten her earlier insistence that she wasn't a baby. She watched him with dark, curious eyes, her fingers pulling on some loose thread on his much-abused trousers.

_'I have told you before that I got hurt a long time ago.'_

Emily nodded. "Your tongue got cut out," she said. Her hold on his knee firmed, and she patted him a little in a clumsy attempt at comfort.

Corvo gave her a lopsided smile, hoping it looked reassuring. _'Yes. He--'_ he gestured at Attano's back, _'still has his. Instead, he sustained that cut on his cheek. That is why he is scarred.'_

"Oh." Emily chewed on her lip, considering. She peered at Attano, trying to be surreptitious about it. "It looks like it hurt."

Something warm and proud bloomed in Corvo's heart at her compassion. She might have regarded his other self with wary suspicion, but she still disliked the thought of him in pain.

_'It probably did,'_ Corvo told her. _'But as you can see, the wound is long-healed, just like mine.'_

Attano pulled a wooden chest out from under a low table. The metal-plated edges screeched loudly across the tiles, but he didn't seem to notice the glare Jessamine sent him. He began to pick at the rusted lock, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Nothing here either," Geoff reported, returning from a small anteroom. He had cobwebs smeared in his hair. He propped his hands up on his hips, surveying the hall with a doubtful frown. "Your majesty, I think we should..."

"And he's just... _here_ now?" Emily asked. She squinted at Attano over her shoulder. "But what will he do? He can't just walk around. He looks like you..."

_'He will return to his world once we are safe,'_ Corvo told her, forming outward-facing fists and pulling his crossed wrists apart.

Emily's eyes widened. "Really? _How?"_ she demanded. In her excitement, she pulled harder on the loose thread, and it snapped, leaving a small, wrinkly imperfection in the fabric of his trousers. "Do you think we could travel like that too? Is it dangerous? Did he--"

"Oh!" Attano said suddenly. He leaned over the chest he'd pried open and fished something out of the depths. 

There was another clink of fragile, shattering porcelain, but he paid it no mind. The thing in his hand was palm-sized, white and vaguely oval. It looked like carved whalebone, engraved with an odd symbol similar to the sigil on Attano's chest. Old, cracked leather was strapped to it, gray and filmy from salt water.

"Fascinating," Attano said softly. He turned the thing over, staring insistently at the back as though trying to divine some hidden message. "I've never seen one of these before..."

"Did you find something?" Jessamine asked.

"Nothing relevant," Attano said. He tossed it in the air once, then weighed it in his palm, considering. "It is just a--"

Wind seemed to get sucked out of the room. There was an audible rush of displaced air, and the shadows turned blacker, the corners and crannies of the spacious room going dark... the white tiles and the collar of Geoff's shirt became almost unbearably bright, leaving stinging afterimages in Corvo's vision.

Attano's eyes widened in alarm. "Fuck!" he yelped, scrambling to his feet. 

He pitched the piece of bone over his shoulder, where it bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. It rolled twice, then came to rest face-up. The symbol was glowing.

Fresh red suddenly soaked the front of Attano's shirt. He stumbled away, flinging out a warding hand at Geoff, who was closest, and yelled, "Get back!"

The floor tilted under Corvo's feet. He jumped up from his crate and pulled Emily behind him. Her white clothing brought stinging tears to his eyes--the brightness hurt, like a spear being driven through his forehead. He took a staggering step towards Jessamine, pulling Emily along behind him, and Emily was saying something, her voice high with fear...

Jessamine half-fell out of her chair, her face a grimace of pain. One hand clutched the pistol, the other she pressed to her head, like she was hearing something unbearably loud. Thick silence pulsed against Corvo's ears. The room spun and tilted crazily, like a distorted mirror.

Pain burrowed into his forehead, right behind his eyes. He felt Emily grip the back of his coat as he swayed on his feet. Then darkness closed around him, and he was pulled under.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely [anelusiveblep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anelusiveblep/pseuds/anelusiveblep) said that an alternate title for this fic could be 'Geoff's Very Weird, Fucked Up Day,' and I agree because his day is about to get even more bizarre. Poor Geoff.
> 
> Again, thank you guys SO much for your continued support!! As you may know, I rarely post multi-chapter fics, and y'all are being so lovely and encouraging about this one. <3

The first thing Corvo became aware of was the air. It was dusty in his nose, dry and warm, a far cry from the moldy damp of the Flooded District.

Blood pounded and roared in his ears. He lay on something hard, and from the throb at the back of his head, he guessed he must have fallen a short distance. Sour nausea twisted his stomach, a counterpoint to the ache in his skull.

A small body squirmed beside him. "It's _hot,"_ Emily complained. Her voice sounded distant, muffled.

Corvo's head spun wildly. He clutched Emily to him, rolling over onto all fours to shield her with his body. His eyes did not want to be pried open, they were still stinging and watering from the bright light. He opened them anyway, and his blurry vision slowly focused itself.

Wavering dark lines became the legs of a table, and a bright patch of color a hanging tablecloth. They were in a small, open dining room, with an unpolished, somewhat dusty wooden floor... a dresser stood in a corner, a vase with wilting fire lilies on top, bright orange and red.

Beside him, Jessamine sat up with a groan, Corvo's pistol clutched in her hands--thank the Void she'd thought to grab it. On her other side, Geoff propped himself up on his elbows, sucking in a slow breath through his nose as he visibly held down a retch.

Corvo's breath caught. He stared at the flowers, unable to look away. Emily crawled out from under him, looking around in confusion, but he barely noticed. Fire lilies only grew in Serkonos-- but they couldn't _possibly..._ some expensive import, perhaps, facilitated by one of Dunwall's wealthier noblemen... but the air was so _warm--_

Attano was the only one still standing. He swayed on his feet, groaning in pain as he clutched at his chest with both hands. The half-healed wound had reopened all over. He was bleeding into his shirt and onto his palms, sticky rust-colored red that spread the smell of copper and iron through the room.

A chair was pushed back with a screech. Someone gasped, and Corvo realized for the first time that they weren't alone.

Geoff Curnow was standing right beside the table. He wore a loose green shirt, the laces half undone like he'd been pulling at them restlessly. His eyes were wide and shocked, and he stared at Attano like he could hardly believe what his senses were telling him.

It was Geoff, but _not._ He was more suntanned than the Geoff Corvo knew, his hair lightened by sunlight and not as streaked with gray. He looked younger as well, or perhaps just happier, and the wrinkles around his eyes told of years of laughter...

"Corvo!" he said, his voice trembling with relief. He ran around the table right into Attano's waiting arms, took his face between both hands, and kissed him.

Jessamine stared in their direction, though she didn't quite seem to see them. Her face was sallow, sweat beading at her temples. She groped around for Emily with one hand and pulled her daughter protectively close.

The kiss was heated and fierce, and it seemed to go on forever. The other Geoff backed Attano up against the wall, kissing him breathless, his hands cradling Attano's jaw as his thumb traced the scar on his cheek. They bumped into the dresser. Glassware rattled within, and Attano reached out blindly to steady himself against the windowsill...

Through the window, Corvo spotted a sliver of blue sky and the edge of a roof, covered in familiar sun-bleached tiles.

"What's going on?" Emily asked. Jessamine had covered her eyes, and Emily's small fingers tugged ineffectually at her hold.

Curnow released Attano's mouth, panting harshly. His face was twisted with anguished relief. He pressed their foreheads together, stroking Attano's temple with his thumb, then took a painful-looking step back. 

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. His eyes were a little damp. "I-- I didn't... I was not sure if you'd come back in one piece."

Attano took hold of his wrist before he could retreat further. He circled it with his fingers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Didn't the boy tell you I would?"

Curnow smiled, small and humorless. "He was most cryptic and unhelpful. I think he enjoyed seeing me worry."

"That little shit," Attano muttered. He pulled his bloodied shirt away from his chest with a grimace, wincing. "I'm fine. Healthy and hale--"

Curnow's eyes focused for the first time on his soiled clothing. "You're bleeding!" he said, faintly accusing. He, too, pulled on Attano's shirt, ducking his head to look at the wound past his open collar. 

Next to Corvo, Geoff's mouth was hanging open. Spots of color had appeared on his cheeks, though the rest of his face was pasty white. His lips moved soundlessly, and one hand reached for his belt, his trembling fingers running along the leather until he found the hilt of his sword.

"Here, sit down." Curnow said, a guiding hand clasped around Attano's shoulder. 

He turned around, right when Geoff finally found his voice and croaked, "What in the blasted, oozing _Void_ is going on here?"

The other Geoff stopped dead. He didn't even appear to be breathing. His incredulous gaze flickered past them until it came to linger on his other self. He said, with strange softness, "What the--?"

Attano had spotted them too. He gaped at their tangle on the floor, at Jessamine's unbound hair and the dried blood on her blouse, half-raising a hand to his head as though his dizziness had returned. "What the _fuck?"_ he blurted out, much louder. "How did you--?"

Emily had ducked out of Jessamine's hold and now peered at the men. "Mother, that was just _kissing,"_ she said, rolling her eyes. "It's okay. I've seen you do it with Corvo before."

Geoff's head swung around slowly until he was looking at Corvo. His eyes were bright with shock. A shiver worked itself along his jaw. Perhaps the sight of his own mirror image had made him forget that he'd already known about Corvo and Jessamine--

"Oh no!" Emily squeaked. She covered her mouth with both hands. "Oh no, I'm-- I forgot it's a secret! Sorry! I'm-- I'm sorry..." 

Her voice rose in distress, sudden tears shining in her eyes. Perhaps it was the shock of-- of _traveling,_ or whatever it was they had done, that had made her take this dusty dining room in stride. Now, her superficial calm cracked.

She reached for Corvo, her other hand fastening itself in the front of Jessamine's shirt. Corvo scooted closer on his knees, pulling her close. She was really getting too heavy to be carried or sit on his lap. His thigh immediately went numb when she clambered onto it, but he couldn't bear seeing her distraught.

"It's alright, Emily," Jessamine said. Her voice was somewhat faint, but the hand she smoothed over Emily's hair did not shake. "They know. It's okay."

Geoff tried again. He cleared his throat, but could only manage a cracked whisper. "Where are we? What _happened?"_

Curnow was utterly still, staring at him in baffled amazement. He didn't even blink. He looked like a spell had frozen him to the spot, and he would stand there for hours or days, every thought arrested by the sight of the man who wore his face.

_"Fuck,"_ Attano said, with feeling. He ran a hand down his face, then grimaced when he realized he'd smeared some of his own blood across his cheek.

He pasted on a smile and spread his hands. He cut a bizarre, almost intimidating figure, with his blood-soaked shirt and toothy grin. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, though his voice shook with a note of hysteria, "may I present: my dimension!"

Silence. A clatter drifted up to the window from the street, then a brief burst of laughing chatter went up as some door opened. A faint trace of music reached Corvo's ears.

Curnow took a deep breath. "I think," he said, "we should all sit down and have some tea."

***

Emily ended up sitting between Corvo and Jessamine on a very narrow couch. She was frankly getting squashed--the couch could generously be called a two-seater for two slender young ladies. But she'd pushed at Jessamine's elbow until she scooted over, then turned pleading eyes on Corvo, looking between him and the few inches of space that were left.

Corvo, ever unable to deny her anything, had sat. He was glad for the opportunity to go down with some dignity. He was not at all sure for how much longer his legs would have held him up.

He was glad Emily had made him join her and her mother. It was unspeakably reassuring to feel her, and Jessamine right beside her, his family gathered close... They weren't safe, far from it, but at least they were here, both of them unharmed.

Geoff sat in a lumpy, somewhat threadbare armchair. He kept staring at his counterpart, and then at Corvo and Jessamine, his blue eyes nervous and hunted. His hands were balled into fists in his lap, and he vibrated with tension, like he would jump up and start pacing--or running--at the slightest provocation.

The other Geoff had rummaged around in what looked like a small kitchen, then all but shoved Attano into another room, ignoring his protests. From the tiles that Corvo spotted through the door, it appeared to be a bathroom. He'd pulled on Attano's shirt as he went, exposing a broad patch of bare, tanned skin on his back, criss-crossed with faint scars.

In the kitchen, water hissed and bubbled as it was slowly heating to a boil. The bathroom door swung half-shut with a creak. From the muffled sounds of bickering and the clink of glass, it sounded like Curnow was seeing to Attano's wound. 

There was a small tug on his wrist. Emily's fingers had wrapped around the golden button on his sleeve. She looked worriedly up at him, her eyes dark and inquisitive. She whispered, "Corvo, are you okay?"

Again somebody asked him if he was well, not unlike Jessamine had done on the stairs by the gazebo. He nodded.

Emily pursed her lips, unsatisfied. Jessamine glanced over too, her head moving slowly as though her neck had stiffened. Her gaze was hollow with lingering shock.

The two men reemerged from the bathroom, Attano with a mildly disgruntled frown, Curnow looking smug. A white bandage covered his chest, and the smell of greasy ointment drifted over to them. He was pulling on a different shirt, this one a nondescript light brown that, Corvo knew, would blend in perfectly with the crowds of commoners that ambled through Karnaca's streets.

"Apologies for the delay," Attano said, pulling shut the laces of his shirt and shaking out the cuffs. He tilted his chin at Curnow. "He worries, you see."

Curnow shot him a glare. "I'd like to see _you_ not develop an ulcer when I go on a jaunt across dimensions, you inconsiderate ass."

"Don't embarrass me in front of our guests," Attano admonished. He waved a hand, encompassing the room with a careless gesture, then said to Jessamine, "Welcome to Karnaca, the jewel of the south, or whatever they're calling it these days."

"Impossible," Jessamine said instantly, almost talking over him, like she'd just waited for the chance to object. "We were-- we were _just_ in Dunwall..."

"Yes, and now we're here." Attano sat on the other couch, Curnow sinking down beside him, and let out a sigh. "Strange, that. I didn't think that could happen..."

He looked tired, almost strung-out. He still had a lopsided smile for Curnow, who'd scooted closer and fixed worried eyes on him. His shoulders were slumped, elbows braced on his knees.

He rubbed his chin, his fingers rasping over his growing stubble. "It must be the rune I found in your world."

"The thing from the Whalers' hideout," Jessamine said, probing. There was a manic glint in her eyes as she latched on to Attano's speculation, ready to draw more details out of him with quick, sharp questions.

"I touched it," Attano explained, "and it gave me that feeling I had when I traveled for the first time. Like... like fabric unraveling, when you pull on the loose threads of a fraying edge..."

He hesitated, staring into the middle distance as he tried to recall the sensation. "It felt bigger, though. More... substantial than the current that pulled me away. That feeling touched the whole room. --Dunwall was _dismal,"_ he said to Curnow, earnestly. "I'm very glad to be home."

Curnow gave him a small smile, taking the non-sequitur in stride. "As am I," he said. He found Attano's hand where it rested on the cushion between them and took it in his own, and ran his thumb over the veins on the back.

"It was so dreary and cloudy..." Attano paused. He looked at Corvo. "The height of summer, but constantly threatening rain. Don't you miss the Serkonan climate?"

With a distinct feeling of unreality, Corvo shook his head. 

He might have pinched himself, but the small cut on his arm where Attano had collected a smear of his blood still stung: he was wide awake.

"Maybe we should..." Curnow said and tilted his chin towards their guests, gently steering Attano back on track.

"Yes, of course." Attano cleared his throat and straightened up. He gestured invitingly with both hands, not seeming to mind that Curnow had not released his hold. "You have questions. Ask."

Jessamine was massaging the bridge of her nose. Her hair was in hopeless disarray, a few strands slipping over her shoulder to brush her bloodstained blouse. _"...Where_ are we?"

"We're in my dimension," Attano repeated. "My world. This is where I came from."

"You traveled to our realm from here to help us," Jessamine said. Her gaze was utterly unforgiving, all of her formidable focus trained on Attano like the muzzle of a gun. "And you-- pulled us back here with you?"

Attano shook his head. For someone who was being stared down by the Empress of the Isles, he looked remarkably at ease. "Not on purpose. Perhaps it was that moment when the magic I brought with me made contact with the magic of your world. The energies must have... clashed."

_"Magic,"_ Jessamine said darkly, pronouncing it like an oath. She let out a breath through her nose and folded her hands in her lap.

A short silence fell. Attano leaned back into the couch and winced as the movement pulled on his chest. He lifted a hand to scratch at his wounds, then glanced at Curnow and let it sink back into his lap.

If he strained his ears, Corvo could still hear faint music. It drifted into the apartment from the street. A window had to be open somewhere... which was only sensible; this late in the day, when the sun no longer hit the windows directly, it was wise to let in some fresh air...

Corvo stared at his hands, which lay limp on his knees. Emily still held on to his button. Her fingers were small and pale against the dark fabric of his sleeve. He shook his head to clear it. His thoughts came slow and reluctant like the drip of too-thick syrup. 

"--overlook that, I suppose," Jessamine was saying, her voice abruptly slipping back into his awareness. She spoke slowly. "I cannot endorse heretical activities, you understand, but I _am_ grateful for your... interference."

"Thank you, your majesty," Attano said, inclining his head. That gleam of secret humor was back in his eyes.

Corvo's hackles rose instantly. He wanted to smack that smug look off his other self's face, bruise his knuckles against his cheekbones... he shoved the heated impulse away. What in the Void was the matter with him? This man had saved Jessamine's life, and all Corvo could think of that he did not like that little smirk...

"The most important question now is," Jessamine said, folding her hands, "how do we get back?"

Attano pulled a face, then lifted a hand to scratch bashfully at the scar on his cheek. "That's where I must disappoint you," he said. "I don't know."

Jessamine's expression froze over. Her hands grew stiff, her fingers clutching at each other so hard her knuckles turned white. A vague thought floated through Corvo's head: it was reassuring to see that his was not the only temper that was short.

Her eyes began to glint dangerously. "We cannot stay here," she said, quiet but vehement. "You brought us here, now send us _back."_

"I _can't!"_ Attano exclaimed. The veneer of calm cracked, and he threw his hands up in frustration. "It's not-- it doesn't work that way! Believe me, if I could just snap my fingers and transport you back to Dunwall, I would!"

Jessamine bared her teeth and leaned forward. "I _command_ you," she snarled. "As the Empress of the Isles, I--"

"Mommy?" Emily said in a small voice.

The gathering cloud of Jessamine's anger dissipated. She focused instantly on her daughter, reaching out a hand to her. "Yes?"

Emily had pulled her knees up to wrap her free arm around them; she still refused to let go of Corvo's button, though her grip had weakened and nearly slid away. "I feel sick," she whispered.

Alarmed, Corvo put his fingertips lightly on her back, just enough to feel her warmth. She did not seem overly hot, but she did look queasy, sweat beading on her temples and upper lip. Her skin was pale and clammy.

"Yes, that can happen," Attano said, gratefully seizing hold of the small distraction. "A side effect of interdimensional travel. I felt quite ill at first too. It'll pass."

"The tea!" Curnow exclaimed. He jumped up and dashed into the kitchen.

The clink of glass and porcelain came from the adjoining room. A small cloud of steam drifted out into the sitting room. Cupboards were opened and closed as Curnow rattled around with what sounded like a number of cups.

"You didn't _look_ ill," Jessamine said to Attano, still wary but less irritated.

Attano shrugged. "I had work to do," he said. "Seeing your other self's life about to be utterly destroyed makes a little nausea rather inconsequential."

Corvo blinked slowly. It took him a long moment to realize Attano was talking about him.

Curnow came back in, balancing a heavily laden tray in his arms. It was an odd mirror image of Geoff serving Jessamine apple cider in his cluttered apartment. Neither of the Curnows were used to transporting lots of beverages at once; he wobbled a bit, and some tea sloshed over the edges of the cups before he finally deposited the tray on the low table.

"Chamomile for you," he said to Emily, handing her a cup. "It should help settle your stomach... my lady?" he tried, glancing questioningly between Emily and Jessamine.

Jessamine's eyes widened in surprise. She drew herself up. "Forgive me," she said, latching on to the reassuringly normal task of getting acquainted with strangers. "I do believe introductions are in order. I am Jessamine Kaldwin, Empress of the Isles."

Curnow, who'd been about to sit down, stood again and bowed. "I'm honored to make your acquaintance, your majesty," he said. "My name is Geoff Curnow, but I suppose you knew that." He shot a brief glance at his counterpart.

"This is Emily, my daughter," Jessamine said, gesturing to Emily, who was gratefully inhaling the hot, fragrant steam that rose from her cup. "And Lord Corvo Attano, my Royal Protector."

Curnow looked at him, surprised. Corvo almost wished Jessamine had left out his title. 

It was very odd to be regarded so carefully by someone with Geoff's face, but darker-skinned, subtly different... Just a moment ago, Attano and this Geoff Curnow had been kissing passionately. This was Geoff but _not,_ a stranger and yet familiar...

"Royal Protector," Curnow repeated softly. "But how...?"

"He was sent to Gristol when he was eighteen," Attano supplied. He'd leaned back into the couch and now looked quite relaxed. "Also, he's mute."

Corvo held back a glare. It was no secret that he couldn't speak, and perhaps it was good of Attano to mention it, since otherwise Curnow might have thought he was just very rude for being quiet. But something about the way he said it rankled.

"Yes, I know," Curnow said patiently. "I've never seen you read so fast as you did last week when you tried to memorize as much sign language as possible. I still say you should've just brought along the dictionary."

"Oh yes," Attano said sarcastically, but with an affectionate tilt to his mouth. "I could've stood there under Dunwall's gray sky, ankle-deep in the blood of assassins, and leafed through the pages in search of the sign for 'run away'. Which is this, by the way." He tapped two fingers against the back of his hand.

Corvo snorted. Jessamine pressed her lips together to hide a smile.

"No, it's not," Emily said. She'd been sipping her tea, and looked a little healthier. "That one means 'potato.'"

"Blast and damn it," Attano said, oddly cheerful. He smiled at Emily, and she cautiously smiled back, though she hid most of her face behind her cup.

Jessamine shot him a sour look, but didn't comment on his language. She turned to Emily, raising a hand to gently brush her hair back. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes," Emily said. Her face had regained some color. "The tea helps. --Do _you_ feel sick?" she asked, her eyes widening as she stared from Jessamine to Corvo and back. 

She did not wait for an answer. "You should have some too," she decided, and gestured at the tray, like this was in fact her drawing room and they'd all awaited her permission to partake of the refreshments.

Jessamine said, "I feel fine," but Curnow said, "Yes, your majesty, please do," and handed her a cup, balancing it carefully on his palm until he could transfer it into her grasp.

Emily swung her stare around to Corvo, who hurried to accept the other cup Curnow was holding out to him. She released his button to allow him to take it, and the porcelain was hot in his palms, stinging his skin.

Corvo took a careful sip. He swallowed with some difficulty, doing his best not to choke. 

For a while after the loss of his tongue, he'd found his sense of taste stunted and diminished--not gone, certainly, but different. Over the months and years, it had come back. He was still unsure whether he had just gotten used to his new normal, or if his few remaining tastebuds had grown more sensitive to make up for his loss.

Spices coated the inside of his mouth. Cinnamon and ginger, and a faint hint of cloves... his nose burned from the sharp aroma, and with it came a flood of memories. 

Countless cups of cheap, watery tea that the street urchins had gotten from one of the more benevolent shop owners... Beatrici's mischievous smile as she added another dollop of rare honey to his tea when their mother wasn't looking... the gruff, white-haired officer he'd served under in the Duke's employ, who'd enjoyed oversteeping his tea until it was almost black...

Jessamine made a small, surprised noise. When she lowered her cup, Corvo saw that Curnow had put a little bit of milk into her tea. By contrast, his own had been left unadorned, just how he liked it. Perhaps his other self shared his preference for spice tea without milk...

"What is it?" Emily was saying, stretching up to sniff at Jessamine's cup. She'd drained her own, and it dangled forgotten from her hand. "It smells weird..."

"Not weird," Jessamine corrected, glancing at their hosts. She slid easily into the gentle, mildly chiding tone she used when Emily made a misstep. "Just different." 

She handed her cup to Emily, who took a big, fearless gulp. She scrunched up her nose, swallowing, then her eyes widened. "It's a little sweet!"

She drank more, pulling the cup out of the way when Jessamine reached to take it back. She seemed wholly devoted to cataloguing this new taste, smacking her lips and inhaling the steam that still rose faintly from the milk-clouded tea.

Corvo watched her, and could not help but admit that Attano's words about fraying fabric made a certain amount of sense. His reality had unraveled, threads unwinding from each other and forming a strange new pattern.

Just an hour ago, they'd been in the Flooded District, rummaging through the abandoned bank... A few hours before _that,_ Corvo had let the waterlock carry him upward, half-listening to Geoff's idle comment about his niece as his heartbeat quickened with anticipation...

And now his daughter was seated on a small Karnacan couch, tasting Serkonan spice tea for the first time. If someone had told Corvo this morning that this was how his afternoon would go, he would've thought them mad.

Corvo rubbed his knuckles over his forehead, wincing. It was enough to give anyone a headache... Emily slurped noisily into Jessamine's teacup, swinging her feet a little... then he felt someone's eyes on him and looked up.

Curnow was the one who was staring at him. He wore a thoughtful, absent-minded expression, trailing his gaze over Corvo's hair, his paler complexion, the unmarred skin of his cheek...

It was the same way Attano had sneaked glances at Geoff back in Dunwall. There was a baffled softness in his eyes, like it tore at his heartstrings to see Corvo, a near-perfect copy of his-- friend. 

Geoff cleared his throat pointedly. He glared at Curnow, who winced and looked away.

Geoff was still pale and unwell-looking. He hadn't touched his tea, just held the cup stiffly in his hands. He'd sat down on the very edge of his armchair, visibly ready to jump to his feet and draw his sword at a moment's notice.

"Thank you for the tea," Jessamine said politely. She'd taken her cup back, drained it, and now set it back on the tray.

"Of course, of course," Curnow said, waving. "It is an honor to serve an Empress."

Jessamine smiled. If it hadn't been for her hands, which were folded tightly in her lap, this could have been like any other diplomatic visit: introductions had been made, pleasantries exchanged, and refreshments served and consumed.

"Well. This interlude has certainly been diverting..." Jessamine said. She'd injected some steel into her voice, and Curnow sat up straighter with a mildly alarmed look. "But as you perhaps recall, my Empire needs me."

Attano looked from her to Corvo and back. He said, "Maybe we--"

Jessamine interrupted him. She leaned forward over her clenched hands, her eyes flinty and hard, and said, "How do we get back?"

"I told you, I don't know," Attano said, then held up his hands defensively when Jessamine's gaze sharpened into an almost-glare. "Truly, I don't! I'm not an expert in all things magical, you know."

A short silence fell as Jessamine stared at him. Her jaw clenched, her gaze flickering back and forth between his eyes, as though she was trying to catch one of them in the act of lying.

Then she let out a sigh, deflating. "You were the one who mentioned 'clashing energies' like someone who knew what he was talking about," she pointed out, almost sullen. 

Attano snorted. "Apologies, your majesty," he said, almost mocking, though Corvo caught a glimpse of genuine remorse in his dark eyes. "I shall refrain from appearing overly confident in the futu-- ow."

Curnow dislodged his elbow from Attano's ribs. "How _did_ you all get here, anyway?" he asked, brow creasing in thought. "Did the magic not work properly?"

"I found a rune over there," Attano began, ready to launch into a detailed retelling. "See, we found the assassins' evil lair-- oh, and an entire district of Dunwall was _flooded,_ can you believe it?" 

Jessamine let out an impatient sigh, interrupting them both. "Then who might know how to transport us back? I _cannot_ stay here." 

She said it with the absolute conviction of one who knew the chaos that awaited her at home--the rat plague and an usurped government--but would put every shred of power she had into trying to keep her city, her Empire, from falling to ruin.

"Are you sure? The Serkonan sunshine might do you some good," Attano muttered. "Lighten your disposition."

Jessamine's face hardened into an unforgiving mask. A muscle jumped in her cheek as she clenched her jaw. "The sun shines in Dunwall too," she said coldly. "Tell me _at once_ whom we should consult."

Corvo looked studiously at his now-empty cup. Her ire wasn't directed at him, but he felt its heat nevertheless, like sitting too close to a fireplace. 

Emily seemed unbothered by her mother's sharp tone; she rubbed idly at a smudge of dirt on her sleeve, her curious gaze drifting back and forth between them. She had not yet reached for Corvo's button again.

Jessamine took a quick, dismayed breath. Realization dawned in her blue eyes. She drew herself up, her shoulders rising rigidly. 

"Was this your plan all along?!" she blurted out. She stared at Attano, startled and angry. "Abduct me to another world to clear the path for Burrows? And I naively fell for it, thinking you'd come to help--"

Attano's eyes widened in unfeigned dismay. He lost the perpetually amused, detached look he had about him, shock wiping away the hint of smug superiority that Corvo found so grating. 

"Outsider's eyes!" he exclaimed. "Your majesty, who do you take me for?! I have no reason to remove you from your world! I do not even _know_ you..."

His eyes darkened with genuine hurt. "There was another me," he said, gesturing in Corvo's direction without looking at him, "about to be put through the worst, darkest period of his _life,_ so how could I _not_ travel to your world to try and help?!"

Jessamine flinched. Remorse loosened the tight set of her mouth. "I believe you," she said quickly, inclining her head. "I spoke too hastily. I apologize."

Attano gaped at her for a second, baffled. His face was flushed, like he'd been ready to deliver an impassioned speech about his good intentions, and now the wind had been taken summarily out of his sails. 

Corvo wondered how much Attano's familiar face aided him in gaining another few inches of the Empress' trust. Jessamine was smart, strong and flexible like a willow tree. But she was not immune to the decades of history and feeling that Corvo's face evoked, even with another man wearing it. 

"Uh-- don't worry about it," Attano said, clearing his throat. "I suppose I'd be quite on edge too, if I'd been taken without warning to another dimension..."

He ran a hand through his hair, pulling the longer strands into disarray, then shook his head in lingering disbelief. "I can't _believe_ that damn rune pulled all of you along with me. Strangest thing I've ever seen..."

"I must go back," Jessamine repeated. Her hands were back to clenching, her knuckles paling under the strain. "As soon as possible. I am needed in my realm."

Attano sighed. He leaned forward to brace his elbows on his thighs. He still sat stiffly, gingerly, to avoid putting any strain on the wrapped wound on his chest. 

"Well, there's only one thing for it." He rubbed his hands together and glanced between all of them, his mouth pulling into a shadow of his usual smirk. "We have to go back to the Outsider shrine."

***

Surprisingly, it was Emily who protested the most. She pulled insistently on Jessamine's hand, digging her heels into the wooden floor as though she was going to stop her mother from leaving the apartment just by holding on to her.

"But you _can't_ go outside!" she said again, distraught. "It's dangerous! What about the rat plague?!"

"The what?" Curnow asked, baffled. "There's no plague here, my lady."

Emily gave him a confused, frightened look. "Lots of people died!" she protested. "And, and Corvo went away for three _months_ to look for help..."

"Wait." Jessamine put her hand on Emily's shoulder and gathered her close, but she looked at Curnow, startled. "There's no rat plague? What year is it?"

"1837," Curnow said. "The Month of Earth. It's the..." He squinted at the window for a moment. "18th, I believe."

The same date as it'd been in Dunwall. Corvo felt a sudden chill. What if... what if the Empress of this world was in danger too? What if a coup was happening up north in Dunwall, with no one there to help...?

For a moment, the thought took his breath away. He swallowed hard, his throat aching. But-- no. That was impossible. Attano would not have left this dimension if it'd been in the same turmoil as Corvo's world. 

And perhaps the Jessamine Kaldwin of this world had not chosen Hiram Burrows for a Spymaster, but someone else, someone more deserving of the trust she put in him. Maybe there were yet other machinations, hidden from plain view, that made these Isles different from the world Corvo knew. 

"--no sickness here, my lady," Curnow was saying. "I assure you, we would have heard of it even down here in Karnaca."

"Fascinating," Jessamine muttered, thoughtful. "I wonder what other differences there are between our realms..."

Curnow turned to Attano, pinning him in place with a glare. "You'd better not have come back sick and dying," he warned. "The boy didn't say anything about that!"

Attano snorted, then sobered when Curnow's scowl grew darker. "I'm fine, Geoff," he said. He reached out a hand to Curnow, who took it, and interlaced their fingers. His skin was dark even against Curnow's tan. "And there are a great many things the little shit forgot to mention."

Leaning against the far wall, Geoff was pressing his lips into a thin line. He still hadn't broken his peculiar silence. His gaze drifted back and forth between his own doppelganger and Corvo's other self, his brow creasing with thinly disguised worry.

Jessamine squeezed Emily gently to her side. "See? It's safe," she said soothingly. "There's no plague here."

Emily pressed herself close to Jessamine, nestling her head against her arm. "I don't like this dimension," she said quietly, perhaps a bit nonsensically, since no rat plague should have been a good thing. 

Jessamine pressed a kiss into Emily's dark hair. She no longer had to lean over quite as far to reach her; Emily had shot up like a weed in the past year. "Don't worry, my darling. We'll be back home before you know it."

"Yeah, in a city ravaged by sickness," Attano muttered, then quickly turned his back and pretended not to notice Jessamine's glower.

All things considered, Jessamine had taken the news surprisingly well. She had never been particularly pious, but she _had_ put up some resistance to the idea of going to a chaos god for help. 

"The Outsider," she'd repeated, deadpan, staring at Attano. "The-- friend-- you mentioned, who gave you insight into our world, that was _the Outsider himself?"_

Attano inclined his head, with a deference that Corvo knew to be at least half affected. "Yes, your majesty."

Jessamine had let out a long, shaky breath, looking down and away. It was a testament to the stress she was under that she allowed herself even that much. Corvo had seen her straight-faced and unmoved by even the most tempestuous Parliament sessions... but interdimensional travel was another thing entirely, and he did not blame her for feeling the strain of their predicament.

"How did you even..." Jessamine pursed her lips. She paused, words visibly poised on her tongue--questions, accusations. Then she shook her head sharply. "No, nevermind. The less I know, the better. Do you trust him? This... individual?"

"Oh, not as far as I could throw him," Attano said, with another one of his ill-timed grins. "But he got me to Dunwall. It was really him who saved your life, if you want to get technical about it."

"I do not," Jessamine said, markedly cooler. She folded her arms across her chest. "And you are certain there is no other way?"

"I am." Attano inclined his head. "If anyone knows how to get you back to Dunwall, it's him."

Jessamine had bitten her lip, giving Corvo a searching look. He'd stared back, somewhat confused why she looked to him for advice--he would do and agree with whatever she asked of him, including heresy. There was no real counsel he could give her; he was not one of her advisors, and even those would likely not have been of any help now.

Something in his expression must have given her the fortitude she'd sought. She nodded at Attano, sighing. "Very well," she'd said. "We'll do it your way."

And so here they were, readying themselves to venture outside, and Corvo's stomach was a mass of squirming anxiety and, oddly, irritation. 

He didn't _want_ to go down into the streets. He would rather have locked himself in the tiny bathroom. He had absolutely no desire to breathe dry Serkonan air... Why couldn't Attano just go by himself, why did they all have to come with him?

But Corvo knew Jessamine would come with his counterpart, and where she went, he would follow, even if the mere thought of dusty cobblestones under his boots made his stomach roil.

"Corvo, look!" Emily called to him, beckoning him over. "There's a lady with an umbrella but it's not even raining!" 

His daughter, at least, was excited at the prospect of going out, now that her anxiety about the plague had been laid to rest. She'd been running back and forth across the drawing room, peering out of the windows at the street below, fascinated by the sights. 

Corvo went over to her and looked over her shoulder. The woman she'd spoken of was almost at the street corner, turning into a narrow alley. Her parasol shone in deep tones of red and orange, the colorful fabric edged with lace. It looked quite simple, as parasols went. He couldn't quite pinpoint where exactly they were in Karnaca just from this view, but he could tell that this was not a wealthy district. 

_'That is a parasol,'_ Corvo told Emily, spelling the word slowly and waiting til she'd mouthed each letter to herself. _'It protects her from the heat and sunlight.'_

"Wow," Emily said. She craned her neck to look after the woman. "We don't need those in Dunwall!"

Corvo smiled down at her, charmed by her simple curiosity despite the circumstances. _'The Serkonan sun is much hotter and fiercer than Gristol's.'_

Emily looked impressed that he knew so much. She glanced up and down the street, likely looking for more parasol-bearing citizens. Corvo kept his eyes on his daughter, and tried not to gaze too closely at the street outside. He didn't want her to see him distraught at the sight of his once home. 

"Your majesty?"

Curnow came back into the drawing room, looking rumpled and a little sweaty. He'd tucked a bundle of clothing under his arm, and now handed it to Jessamine with a small, awkward smile. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't find anything smaller..."

Jessamine shook out the shirt he'd given her. It was visibly too big for her, though not as comically oversized as one of Attano's shirts would have been. The fabric was simple and white, the collar unadorned but fortunately quite high, tied shut with laces.

"That's quite alright, Cap-- Mr. Curnow," Jessamine corrected herself with an apologetic glance of her own, this one directed at Geoff. "This will do nicely."

"Our bedroom is over there," Curnow said, gesturing behind him, "or you can change in the bathroom, if you prefer..."

"Mommy?" Emily called, her voice rising in alarm. 

In her haste to traverse the room, she bumped into the table and rattled the empty cups. She'd been content to look outside before, but now that her mother was about to move out of sight, she came running, her lip already wobbling.

Jessamine held out a hand to her, like there was nothing unusual about Emily's sudden distress. "Come with me," she said, and folded her hand reassuringly around Emily's small fingers. "You can help me soak this." She gestured to her blouse.

Mother and daughter disappeared into the bathroom together. This time, Corvo caught a longer glimpse of it; unevenly laid tiles, a gauzy curtain covering a window... a porcelain sink with a slightly rusted faucet...

The door was thin, and did almost nothing to muffle conversation. Corvo, who stood right beside it, could even hear the rustle as Jessamine unbuttoned and then shrugged off her soiled clothing.

"Oh no, your corset!" Emily exclaimed, distressed. It seemed that the blouse and chemise hadn't sufficiently protected Jessamine's undergarments from the assassin's arterial spray.

"The blood will come out," Jessamine said resolutely. "And even if it does not, I have other corsets. Here, turn on the tap."

The faucet creaked, then water rushed and splashed into the sink. "But this one's your favorite," Emily mumbled.

Corvo found himself staring at the door in surprise: he knew which corset Jessamine had to be wearing. It was light blue, wrinkly around the boning from how old it was... the darker blue stitching was a little frayed, and a number of her maidservants had been tutting over it, hinting gently that perhaps it was time to throw it away. 

So far, she'd been resistant to the idea. She'd told Corvo once that the longer one owned a corset, the more molded to one's shape it became, making it more comfortable... 

He yanked his gaze off the door. His face felt unbecomingly hot. It was a good thing the strange magic had not endowed Attano with mind-reading skills. Though it wouldn't have mattered much, probably, since everyone here knew of their secret anyway...

He looked over at Geoff, who stood by the dining table, his arms folded across his chest. By now, his frown looked etched in, like his forehead would never smooth out again. 

Their eyes met for a moment, then Geoff glanced quickly away. The tips of his ears flushed a hectic red. Corvo frowned, unsure why Geoff wouldn't meet his eyes. He wished he knew what to do to ease his friend's pinched expression.

After ten minutes, Jessamine came back out of the bathroom. Curnow's shirt hung off her shoulders, and she'd had to roll the sleeves up a bit, but overall, tucked into her black trousers, it looked almost fashionable.

She'd braided her hair and tied off the end with a piece of string, and while it was certainly more comfortable for her like this, several of her courtiers would have found fault with the Empress braiding her hair like a simple milkmaid. That was rather the point, Corvo thought; she'd likely woven the braid to make herself look more plain, and less recognizable.

The last smears of make-up had been washed off her face. Her cheeks were pink from the cold water. Emily looked more put-together too. Her hair was as neat as it could be without a brush, and her bow was no longer lopsided.

"Ladies, you look magnificent," Attano said expansively. His smile was lopsided and altogether too amused for Corvo's liking. "You will turn the heads of every Karnacan bachelor and the Outsider himsel --ow."

Curnow removed his heel from Attano's toes. "Perhaps," he said delicately, looking between Corvo and Jessamine, "someone should stay here with Lady Emily..."

Instantly, Emily's calm crumbled again. Her face reddened, her little hands balling into fists.

"No!" she protested, glaring between her parents as though daring either of them to object. "I'm going!"

Jessamine sighed. She'd pulled the end of her braid over her shoulder and fidgeted with it, indecisive. "Emily..."

_"No!"_

Emily ran to the other side of the room, stumbling against the table a second time. She put the couch between herself and the others, and glared fiercely at her mother, her cheeks pink with indignation.

"It might be dangerous, darling," Jessamine said. She approached the couch, hands held out placatingly. "We are not just going for a walk. This is a frightening expedition--"

"No!" Emily shouted for a third time, actually stomping her foot. Her eyes shone wetly. "You can't leave me here! I don't like this place!"

Jessamine winced a little, glancing at Attano and Curnow, whose apartment was being disparaged. "Emily, please," she said. "This is not a fun little afternoon stroll. Mr. Curnow has a point. You are so young--"

"I'm _going!"_ Emily cried. Her voice cracked a little, and Corvo spotted a tremble along her jaw.

He turned to Jessamine instantly. _'Let her come,'_ he signed. _'I would rather not let her out of my sight just yet.'_

For a moment Jessamine hesitated, biting her lip, then she nodded. "Neither would I, if I'm honest," she said, sighing. "It's just..."

_'I know.'_ Corvo offered her the tap of his fingertips against the side of his forehead, then straightened his shoulders and met her eyes head on. ' _I swear to you that I will protect her to my last breath.'_

Jessamine blinked, then huffed a small, incredulous laugh, like that was the last thing she'd been thinking about. "Corvo, I _know,"_ she said. "I'm not doubting you. It's just been... a long day."

Corvo nodded. He let out a slow breath, trying to loosen his rigid posture--he hadn't realized that he'd slid his feet apart as if bracing for a blow. A chill descended on him, deep and biting.

She would have had every right to question his skill, after his failure in the gazebo... even armed to the teeth, he'd been helpless, flung aside like a ragdoll... perhaps she was only reassuring him out of politeness, or regard for his feelings...

\--Attano was staring, he realized, his gaze flickering back and forth between Corvo and Jessamine. A small smile lurked in the scarred corner of his mouth. 

Corvo instantly felt a frown form on his face, and looked away so he wouldn't glower at his counterpart. The man had done nothing wrong, except look in their direction--and happen to wear Corvo's face but be so Void-damned _different..._

"It's okay," Jessamine was saying to Emily, cajoling. "I won't make you stay here. You'll come along, and we'll all be together."

Emily inched her way out from behind the couch. Her lower lip trembled now, too, and she narrowed her eyes. "You promise?"

"Yes. I promise." Jessamine smiled at her, holding out her hand. "Corvo does, too."

Emily looked at him. Corvo solemnly drew his finger away from his mouth, then brought his hand down to cover the curled-up thumb in his other fist.

She stared at his hands for a moment, hardly breathing. Once, when she'd been very young, she had told Corvo that the end of the sign for 'promise' looked like a deep well being covered with a sturdy lid to keep children from falling in. The image had stuck with him, and he was sure she thought of it now too, as her expression crumpled and she ran to her mother's side with a little choked-off sob. 

She flung her arms around Jessamine's middle. Jessamine hugged her back, pressing her cheek against the top of her head. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, smoothing a firm hand down Emily's back. "We won't leave you behind."

Emily sniffled, clinging a little tighter. Over the past year, she'd grown less openly affectionate around strangers; she was getting older and more self-conscious, and a few months before Corvo had left on his expedition across the Isles, she had stopped calling Jessamine 'Mommy' in public. Likewise, she'd taken to standing with her hands clasped behind her back, the way Jessamine often did, and usually kept a decorous distance, unless she was distressed.

She'd been through a terrifying ordeal, though, and was bound to seek reassurance in whatever way she could. Jessamine did not begrudge her her small regression. She just held her daughter close, cradling her head against her shoulder, and gave her time to calm down.

A few minutes later, Emily let go. Her eyes were red, but mostly dry. She had the tired, strung-out look of a stressed child nearing the end of their endurance, and when she went over to Corvo and reached for his hand, he gave it to her instantly, folding his fingers around her small, chilled palm.

"Alright," Jessamine said, with a deep breath. Emily's was not the only composure that had to be reassembled, but her gaze, when she leveled it at Attano, was mostly steady. "Please lead the way."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS, YOU GUYS, we have fanart for chapter 3!!! The wonderfully talented [apricottartlet](https://apricottartlet.tumblr.com) painted [Jessamine with a braid, wearing Curnow's shirt](https://apricottartlet.tumblr.com/post/630954152215937024/jessamine-in-a-loose-shirt-and-with-a-braid-from), and their art is fantastic as always. ;_; I feel so, so blessed. Go look at the gorgeous painting and leave them some love! Go go go!
> 
> Also, please note the updated tags: I've added 'canon-typical homophobia'. It won't come from any of the main characters--those are all good eggs--but its existence will be brought up.
> 
> Regarding this chapter: pour one out for Geoff, whose day is about to get _more bizarre._ I feel like that should be my A/N for every chapter of this fic, lol.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your continued support!! ♥

The late Karnacan afternoon was really too warm for Corvo's coat. 

He started sweating almost as soon as they stepped out into the street, but stubbornly refused to undo more than the top two buttons. He had the peculiar feeling that he needed the coat, like Gristolian armor between him and his childhood home.

The faint smell of spices drifted through the air, mingling with the salty breeze from the sea. Distant shouting and laughter could be heard, and melodious Serkonan accents echoed between the sandstone buildings.

The sounds of Karnaca flowed over Corvo like oily, tepid bath water. He felt removed from it all, like someone had put before him an audiograph recording of the city, though there was no mechanical crackle in the background. 

Attano and Curnow walked ahead of them, squabbling in hushed tones. From what Corvo overheard, Attano wanted to take a detour to the district's most famous bakery, and Curnow hissed, "This is _not_ the time for pastries," half-fond and half exasperated.

Jessamine's hand was a reassuring, familiar weight in the crook of his elbow. Emily clutched tightly at his other hand, stumbling periodically as she stared around at the street with eyes wide as saucers. Geoff followed a few paces behind them all, ever-watchful.

They went down a set of stone steps. A fountain gurgled in a small plaza, some trees rustling in the wind. Corvo's head felt stuffed full of wool, an insulating layer that muffled his senses. 

The streets slowly filled with people. A gaggle of children ran past them, scarves tied over their noses and mouths as their shoes kicked up billowing clouds of dust. An elderly woman stooped in front of a tall, narrow house, sweeping sand off the front step.

A dust storm must have blown through right before they'd gotten here. The street corners and crooked alleys were filled with sand, small heaps of it pushed against the walls and into gutters. A lingering haze hung in the air, though it faded fast as they walked, the weather changing with customary Serkonan swiftness.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Jessamine muttered.

Corvo yanked his gaze away from a dark alleyway with some difficulty. Her voice was jarring, like a sudden cold hand on the back of his neck. Sweat dampened him all over, and his shirt clung unpleasantly to his skin.

At his questioning look, Jessamine quirked a small smile. "Can you imagine the High Overseer's face if he could see us right now?" she said quietly. "He'd have me marked with the Heretic's brand and chased out of the city."

Corvo flinched. A rush of panic went through him, followed quickly by hot, unreasoning anger. 

It was a good thing Emily held his other hand, or his sword might have sprung into his palm. He clenched his teeth against the sour surge in his stomach. Jessamine was right here, safe and sound--yet he felt like some prodded feral beast, ready to flay anyone alive who so much as laid a _finger_ on her, Overseer uniform or no...

"Alright, I'm sorry," Jessamine said quickly, squeezing his arm. "It's not the time for jokes, is it?"

Corvo breathed shallowly. Keeping ahold of his composure felt like sand slipping through his fingers, but he clung to it, trying his hardest to keep it together. He couldn't afford to lose his cool--not here, and not now.

"Okay, fine!" Attano said to Curnow, throwing up his hands. "Excuse me for believing they might be hungry..."

The buildings and streets went by in a blur. Corvo floated in an odd state of mingled fog and hypervigilance. The sun slanted painfully into his eyes, throwing everything into stark relief... but at the same time, his vision seemed slightly blurry. He stared hard at each shadowed building and dark street, ready to push his family behind him at the slightest sign of a threat.

A trickle of sweat ran down his back, sticky and ticklish. He put one foot in front of the other, following behind his counterpart, and tried hard not to smell the bone-dry dust and the sweeter scent of Serkonan flowers that drifted through the streets.

***

Another short debate was held outside a decrepit house.

"--might be dangerous, your majesty," Curnow was saying, speaking to Jessamine, but glancing apologetically at Emily. "Perhaps one of us should stay out here with her..."

Corvo surfaced from his strange fog, glancing around in mild confusion. He could smell the canal, with its overgrowth of algae; at some point, they'd reached the edge of the Batista Mining District, though he hadn't noticed. 

This side of the bay reminded him of the the Flooded District, though without water. Crumbling buildings and boarded-up windows, and grass and weeds growing between the big cracks in the pavement...

"I'm coming too!" Emily insisted. She clung so tightly to Jessamine's hand that her knuckles went white, like she feared someone would physically yank her away. "I'm not staying out here!"

"Very well," Jessamine said. She ran a soothing thumb over the back of Emily's hand; she'd likely thought about this on the way, and acquiesced so readily because she'd already made her decision. "But promise me you'll--"

"Yes, yes. Stay close to Corvo and hide when he tells me to." Emily leaned against Jessamine, swinging their joined hands back and forth in a nervous gesture. "I _know,_ Mother. I'm not a baby."

Jessamine sighed, but chose not to admonish her daughter for her flippant tone. She just gave Emily a pointed look until Emily huffed and shuffled over to Corvo. She didn't reach for his hand, though, just glanced cautiously up at him.

The timid, unsmiling look on her face was more of a shock than a bucket of water poured over his head. Corvo shook himself, closing his teeth hard around the inside of his cheek. He welcomed the sting; it summoned his consciousness back into his body, which was unpleasant, considering the fact that his stomach had clenched into a hard ball, but necessary.

No matter how utterly wrong it felt to be here, he would _not_ frighten Emily. Not even if the city itself rose up around them to shackle him here and bury him in sand and memories.

He managed a small smile for her. When he held out his hand, she took it instantly, and he let out a silent breath of relief that his demeanor hadn't spooked her too badly.

Inside the derelict house, the shrine itself was strangely disappointing. Corvo had imagined that they'd again be swamped by the airless feeling he remembered from the assassin's hideout. He'd thought there might be mystic sparks, or a distant unearthly howl coming directly from the Void.

Instead, it was just a rickety wooden construction, a table with some splintery poles of wood jutting up from its middle. A dusty purple cloth was draped over it all, lined with golden embroidery.

It might not have been much to look at. But the closer Corvo got, the more he felt its effects. A subtle tug started behind his navel. His fingertips prickled, not unlike the sensation of coming too close to a whale oil lamp. A queer, milky shine filled the room. It seemed to emanate from the shrine, though there were no candles or lanterns.

The building was abandoned, though he'd spotted some signs of recent habitation on their way inside. A battered mattress lay in a corner, a moth-eaten blanket crumpled on top. In the hallway, an empty can had rolled away when Curnow accidentally kicked it, and a dusty, drained bottle of whiskey stood next to the makeshift bed.

Emily and Jessamine were right behind him. Despite her brave words outside, Emily had quailed a bit when they'd stepped through the door. She walked so close behind Corvo that she kept stepping on his heels, but Corvo didn't mind--he would rather have her too close than too far away.

Jessamine stood a little to his left, half-shielded behind him. It was an odd position for her to be in--usually, it was Corvo who stood two steps behind her, the better to watch out for anything that might come for her.

Attano marched right up to the table and rapped his knuckles on it. A small cloud of dust erupted under his fingers. "Boy!" he called. His voice echoed off the cobwebbed ceiling. "Hey, are you there?"

Corvo looked at Geoff, who'd withdrawn to the other side of the room, and they shared a small wince. He did not claim to be an expert in anything supernatural, but there had to be a less flippant way to summon a chaos god.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the room darkened. A faint tremble rushed through the air. The milky light thickened, gathering around the altar like fog.

Corvo blinked, closing his eyes for only a split-second. When he opened them again, they were no longer alone.

Before them stood a young man, clad all in black, with dark hair and utterly fathomless eyes. No--he was _floating,_ Corvo saw, his feet hovering several inches off the ground. 

Cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck. The hilt of his sword was reassuringly solid in his palm. Behind him, Emily took a sharp, startled breath.

Dust trickled off the ceiling. The floor vibrated under Corvo's feet, dirt and gravel skittering across the wood. The man's skin was nearly translucent, so pale that the blueish-purple veins in his neck and eyelids showed through.

"Oh, it's you," the man--boy, really--said to Attano. It was hard to read his expression, since he was so pale, and his eyes were entirely black, but Corvo thought he looked disapproving. "I have certainly been summoned with more decorum."

The air smelled like old stones and charged things, like clouds before a storm. A faint noise hummed through the room, a rumble that Corvo felt more than heard. It vibrated in his teeth and chest, making his ears ring subtly.

Attano did not look very intimidated. "You don't get decorum from me, you bastard," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You neglected to mention that my counterpart has a _child."_

Emily's small hand seized hold of Corvo's coat. She pulled insistently on her palmful of fabric.

The boy blinked slowly. He glanced towards Corvo, and presumably to Emily hiding behind him. Corvo bared his teeth and firmed his grip around his sword, widening his stance. His heart pounded hard in his throat, and his arms had long broken out into goosebumps, but if the boy made one wrong move in Emily's direction, Corvo would tear him limb from limb...

The Outsider looked away from them, though, back at Attano. He said, "Oh."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Attano snarled. He stalked forward and jabbed a finger at the floating entity, nearly poking him in the chest. "She could have _died!_ We were lucky you deigned to tell me how to work a tracking spell!"

Curnow stepped closer, though his face was twisted into a reluctant grimace. He'd half-drawn his sword, his eyes fixed on the Outsider's form, ready to ward off any attack aimed at his-- friend... though the boy did not look like he would bring the arcane energies of the Void crashing down on any of their heads.

Emily pulled on his coat again. Corvo reached a hand back and rested it on her shoulder in reassurance, not daring to take his eyes off the altar.

It was perhaps the first time he'd seen Attano truly angry. He'd been so jovial about everything, with that damned _smirk_ of his... Corvo found it surprising that he cared that Emily had been in such peril...

Corvo frowned, pausing. No, that was unfair of him. He might not like his counterpart much, but the man wasn't heartless. Of course he cared that a young child had been abducted.

"She's so _young!"_ Attano shouted. His voice echoed off the ceiling, and a trickle of dust came down. "She's only--" he glanced back towards them, "--five or something! And they _scared_ her! They locked her up, with no food or water!"

The Outsider did not seem angry at Attano's tone and demeanor; just moderately interested, like a scientist observing an unexpected change in a small glass dish. 

"--didn't say anything about a kidnapping!" Attano snarled. He didn't seem to notice that the Outsider's black gaze lingered on his angry gestures. "Which would've been useful to know, you little shit! I can't believe that you--"

"You are lucky indeed," the boy said abruptly. His stare sharpened. "I know the blood on your hands. Consider yourself fortunate that it does not belong to the Daud of this world."

A shudder went through the building. The walls and rafters tilted and bent, like someone had shoved a fish-eye lens over the room. 

\--And _there_ was the suffocating feeling Corvo had expected. His breath caught in his throat. Pressure built behind his eyes and in his ears. His sword hissed quietly as it was drawn a few inches out of its sheath. 

Corvo glanced down at his hand--it had moved on its own volition. _Daud?_ There was a version of the assassin in this world, running around unchecked...?

"So this dimension's Daud is known to you?" Attano threw up his hands. He didn't seem to notice the warping of reality around him. "Fantastic! If he starts talking about regicide, let me know!"

The floor shook and shivered under Corvo's feet. Emily's chilled fingers wrapped around his wrist and yanked hard on his arm.

Corvo turned just enough so he could see her while also keeping the Outsider in his sights. Emily was ghostly pale, her mouth trembling with fear, but her eyes were wide and insistent. She lifted her hands and signed, _'I know him!'_

She signed with her left hand, mirroring Corvo rather than turning the signs around to reproduce them. The fingers she tapped against her temple shook.

"Ah," the boy said. The rumble in the air quieted. "I see the young Empress-to-be has recognized me."

Emily stared up at Corvo, her eyes widening. Then she leaned around him to scowl at the Outsider. "How do _you_ know sign language?!"

Corvo stepped between them. His sword all but sprang into his palm, and he pointed it at the boy, the steel gleaming dangerously. That white throat would part like butter under his blade... though worldly weapons might not hurt the boy much, perhaps Corvo could slow him down while the others escaped... 

The Outsider smiled faintly. He hadn't acknowledged the others at all. "You needn't fear me, _Lord_ Attano," he said, putting subtle emphasis on his title. "I wish you no harm."

Corvo didn't move. Neither did the point of his sword, leveled unwaveringly at the boy's chest.

The boy half-shrugged, an oddly human gesture. The room had steadied again. The thrum of energy sank back beneath the fabric of reality. The floor still vibrated faintly, though, and the rafters creaked in protest against the supernatural entity that'd taken shape in the building. 

"Emily?" Jessamine breathed. Her voice shook. She'd stepped closer to her, flanking her from the other side, both of them half-hidden behind Corvo.

"I dreamed of him," Emily said. She looked anxiously first at Corvo, then at her mother. "A ghost with black eyes..." 

Her stare turned vacant, unfocused. She spoke slowly, remembering. "There was a ruined tower. Two beds in a small room. Corvo had a scary mask, and-- I made a drawing of you," she said to Jessamine, "and hung it on the wall..."

She trailed off, shivering. Corvo saw goosebumps rise on her arms.

Jessamine's lips firmed into a thin line. She glared at the black-eyed boy, her hands closing into fists. "What were you doing in my daughter's dreams?!" she snarled, her own fear forgotten in protective anger.

"Nothing of consequence," the Outsider said lazily. "Just a little bit of-- in a way, I believe you might call it... stargazing."

"Wait a minute," Attano said, holding up a hand, a confused frown pulling at his eyebrows. "You visited Emily's dreams? But she's not from here!"

The boy gave him a disdainful look. "You think I am constrained by the barriers between your realms?"

Attano gaped at him, then threw his hands up in frustration. _"That_ right there," he snapped, "is the kind of thing that would've been good to know!" 

Jessamine glowered, but relaxed a little, now that the Outsider was no longer speaking to her daughter. Her jaw was set, her eyes still flinty. Emily pressed herself against Corvo's legs, but he no longer felt her tremble; perhaps, by now, she was more curious than afraid.

"--apology accepted, I guess," Attano said, scowling at the boy, though no actual words of contrition had been spoken. "I'll grant you that we were quite pressed for time when you Marked me."

"How gracious of you," the Outsider said. A mocking smile curled the corners of his mouth.

Attano jutted out his chin, visibly biting back a sharp retort. "The least you can do to fix this mess," he said instead, "is help us now, and shed some light on this whole situation." He waved at the room at large, encompassing Corvo and the other unwilling interdimensional travelers.

The boy let out a near-inaudible sigh. It seemed that even a chaos god was not impervious to simple exasperation. 

His black eyes glinted in the dim light, coolly reflective. A dark fog rolled off him in slow waves, dissipating as its wisps curled outward into the room.

"It's a good thing it was you who touched the rune," he said slowly. His gaze passed between Attano and Curnow. "Your connection to Geoff was strong enough that it pulled you all here. If any of them had touched it, you would have gotten lost between dimensions."

"We haven't been given magic, though," Jessamine pointed out. She looked at the Outsider with pursed lips, her jaw clenched stubbornly. It wasn't unlike the look she got in Parliament when she picked apart the argument of some pompous lord she did not agree with.

The Outsider sighed again, with just a hint of impatience. "You were touched by his," he said, tilting his head at Attano, "as soon as he saved you. Think of it like being pulled along by the current churned up by a whaling trawler..."

"Yeah, excuse me," Attano said, his finger raised importantly, out of patience with the boy's cryptic explanations. "Speaking of magic that dragged some of us where they don't belong--they need a way back."

The boy turned his head slowly to look at him. His black eyes glittered. "Is that so," he said, inflectionless.

Jessamine glanced at Corvo, who had lowered his sword, but not sheathed it. She squared her shoulders and said, "Yes, it is. My Empire is in disarray and I must return as soon as possible. I have a usurper to take care of."

"Hmm," the Outsider muttered. He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with a narrow-eyed, inquisitive look.

A moment passed in silence. The purple fabric swayed and billowed. Corvo tried not to look at it too closely; when he did, he began to see shapes behind the cloth, grasping hands reaching forward and faces distenting the fabric, otherworldly breath sucking the gold embroidery into open mouths...

"I would be willing to offer you compensation," Jessamine said at last, wary.

Unexpectedly, the boy smiled. It was close-mouthed, eerie but not quite threatening. "Rest assured that I have no use for your worldly riches," he said. "No... this will be much simpler." 

His inscrutable gaze passed over all of them, assessing. "All I require is a measure of... devotion."

Jessamine's nose wrinkled like she'd smelled something unpleasant. "Devotion to _you?"_ she asked, almost belligerent. "To your magic?"

The Outsider shook his head. "To your own realm."

He floated a little higher. Corvo fought down a strange shiver as that black gaze brushed him. Emily was still holding on to the back of Corvo's coat, though her head was pressed to his arm as she looked at the boy in fascination.

The Outsider tilted his head, a small smile quirking his thin lips, like they were novel pieces of furniture that he was not yet sure how to arrange.

"Is there someone in your world who misses you?" he asked, finally. His voice seemed to carry farther than it'd used to. "Who loves any of you?"

"What does that have to do with--?" Jessamine began, but he just said, "Answer the question," without so much as looking at her, like he'd known she would speak before she had opened her mouth.

She shot him a glare before turning away. She looked at Corvo and Emily, then her eyes widened in realization: they could not choose each other, as they were all meant to be traveling back...

The silence stretched. The milky light had spread a little, illuminating the farther corners of the room. Corvo found himself glancing at one of the broken windows, and realized for the first time that the world outside seemed to have gotten dark. This far south, nightfall was still some hours away, but the Outsider's arcane aura brought a queer, purplish sheen to the sky.

Geoff cleared his throat. "My niece," he croaked. "Callista."

Everyone turned to stare at him. He shifted a little, uneasy, but held his ground. His jaw was tight, and his face seemed pale in the wan light. The tendons in his neck were corded with tension.

No one looked more shocked than Curnow, though, whose eyes went wide. He spluttered wordlessly for a moment, staring at Geoff in startled disbelief.

 _"What?"_ he breathed, and took a small step towards his other self. "You-- Callista is..." 

His voice cracked. Attano frowned and shuffled closer to him, and after a moment Curnow tried again. "You are... in touch with her?"

"She lives with me," Geoff said, nonplussed. He stared uneasily towards his counterpart, squinting like he did not quite dare look at him directly.

"She _lives_ with you?" Curnow repeated, baffled. There was something pained in his flabbergasted expression, an old wound surfacing.

"Yes." A stern, wary frown appeared between Geoff's eyebrows. "Why, what about this world's Callista?" 

Curnow let out a shaky sigh. He rubbed a hand down his face, visibly wrestling his shock under control. Attano had taken another step towards him, and now stood close enough to touch. He looked worried, ignoring the Outsider entirely.

Curnow cleared his throat. "My niece's mother," he said carefully, glancing towards Corvo and Jessamine, "threatened to sic the Dunwall City Watch on me if I ever set foot in her house. So I haven't seen Callista since she was a baby."

Geoff's nostrils flared as he let out a heavy sigh. For the first time he looked at his other self with something like commiseration. "My sister-in-law did that too," he said with a small, humorless smile. "Then she died."

"Oh," Curnow said, his eyes still wide. Attano muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'good riddance,' though neither him nor Geoff looked his way. "...And Callista came to live with you?"

"When she was fifteen. Yes."

 _"Fifteen,"_ Curnow muttered to himself. He took a step back and leaned over a little, like someone who was trying to steady himself after receiving a crushing blow. 

He ran a hand through his hair, then forced himself to look at Geoff again. "Well, as far as I know, this universe's Elodie Curnow is still alive and kicking."

"A circumstance easily influenced," Attano said under his breath.

Curnow shot him a half-hearted glare. "Corvo, I've told you you cannot kill my sister-in-law just because she insulted me."

It wasn't the first time Curnow called his-- partner? Lover?-- by his first name, but somehow, it was still bizarre to hear. He pronounced Corvo's name almost the same way Geoff did, but he rolled the 'r' a little, with the barest hint of a Serkonan accent he had probably adopted after years and years of living here-- How long had it been for him? When had this Geoff Curnow decided to leave Dunwall?

Corvo yanked his thoughts back to the present with some difficulty. Every time he tried to think about these-- _other versions_ of him and Geoff, whose lives had gone so very differently, his temples began to ache. A part of him overflowed with questions, but mostly he just wanted to flee back to Dunwall as soon as possible. 

"And your niece would miss you?" the Outsider asked Geoff. "If you were gone from her world forever?"

"Yes," Geoff said.

The boy smiled, and almost seemed to bob a little where he floated in childlike excitement. "It must be you, then," he said.

Geoff's throat bobbed as he swallowed, but his stance remained firm; he didn't shrink back. "Me?"

"Who transports you all back into your realm," the Outsider explained. He blinked slowly at Geoff, his gaze black and shining. "You must receive my Mark."

Geoff glanced at Attano's chest, where the bandages were still visible under his shirt. "Oh," he said limply.

To Corvo's surprise, Attano looked distinctly unhappy. He frowned at the Outsider, folding his arms across his chest. "Is there no other way?"

"Corvo," Curnow began quietly, nudging him.

Attano shook off his hand. "There's got to be something else you can do," he insisted. His brow was furrowed, almost pained. "Can't you just transport them back? Snap your fingers and--?" He gestured vaguely towards the ceiling.

The boy grinned. It wasn't a friendly expression. His lips seemed to stretch too wide, exposing two rows of small, sharp teeth. 

"I could," he said, and bounced a little in place, like a gleeful child revealing a long-held secret. "But where would be the fun in that?"

Attano reared back, then seized hold of his sword. "You little shit!" he snarled. His dark eyes flashed with sudden fury. "This is all just a _game_ to you, isn't it?! Geoff isn't-- we're not your fucking chess pieces, to be shoved wherever you fucking please!"

He stalked forward, putting himself squarely between the boy and Geoff. His blade gleamed, half-unsheathed. 

The dark fog around the boy thickened. Smoke wafted off his floating form in curls and wisps. His posture did not change, and neither did his expression, but all of a sudden he radiated danger, a leashed power so alien that it made Corvo's teeth ache. A distant hum started up somewhere, a buzzing that Corvo felt more than heard, a vibration deep in his bones.

"Don't try it," the boy advised, quietly. "Divining the future from your entrails would be boring."

"Corvo..." Curnow said, holding out a quelling hand. His gaze flickered nervously from his partner to the Outsider and back.

Attano didn't seem to hear either of them. He bared his teeth, though the expression was in no way a smile. His right foot slid forwards, ready to launch him at the boy in a whirlwind of cutting steel. He growled, "If you so much as _touch_ him--"

"I'll do it."

All eyes turned to Geoff, again. He stood tall, and some color had returned to his face. His shoulders were squared, his jaw set stubbornly, like he was just waiting for someone to protest.

"Captain Curnow..." Jessamine said softly. Then she pursed her lips, frowning, visibly torn. "I cannot ask you to do this..."

Geoff smiled grimly. "You're not, your majesty. With all due respect, you're not the only one who has to get back to Dunwall."

"You bastard," Attano said to the Outsider, though his shoulders slumped in defeat. He'd released his sword, at least, though his hands were now balled into fists. "Geoff-- Captain," he corrected himself, wincing. "You don't have to do this. Give me five minutes alone with the brat and I'll _make_ him help..."

The Outsider tilted his head, expressionless. "I'd like to see you try."

A frown furrowed Geoff's brow; he actually looked annoyed. It was the most animated Corvo had seen them since they'd arrived here, and it was reassuring in a way--Geoff had shrunk so far into himself, wary and closed-off, that it was good to see him reemerge. 

"Will you stop that?" he asked brusquely. "You too, your majesty. If this is the way to get back to our dimension, I'm taking it."

Attano took a step back. He looked surprised and a little hurt. "I didn't mean--"

Curnow put a quelling hand on his arm. Attano glanced at him, then closed his mouth and subsided.

Geoff turned to the Outsider, his frown cleared away. "What do I have to do?"

The boy steepled his slender fingers. His smile now was serene, self-assured, like a feral cat that sheathed its claws because it knew with absolute certainty where its next meal would come from.

"I will Mark you like I Marked him," he said, inclining his head towards Attano. "Some time will pass. Then, once the magic has found its home in you, your tether will pull you all back. --Provided you have a rune," he added, an afterthought.

A short pause. Attano wore a grimace of mingled anger and interest. He sucked on his teeth, his dark eyes flashing with irritation, but then his curiosity got the better of him.

"So it wasn't a clash of energies that put us all here?" he asked, reluctantly. "I touched a rune in the other world, and I thought perhaps your magic," he pointed at his chest, "was subtly different from the magic in the rune..."

 _"No,"_ the Outsider said, somehow scathing although his tone did not change. "It is more like... pouring out more water than a single glass can hold, so it spills over the rim."

"Fascinating," Attano said. His expression brightened, then he remembered that he'd been angry with the boy just a moment ago, and went back to glowering.

Jessamine had her arms folded across her chest, wearing a worried frown. "Where will we find a rune?"

"Don't worry about that," Attano said dismissively. "At least half of Karnaca's Overseers are useless drunkards. Shouldn't be too hard to rustle up a rune from somewhere."

Jessamine's eyebrows rose, but she chose not to comment. 

The boy smiled at Geoff, showing his teeth again. It looked like he'd grown more of them in the past few minutes; they seemed sharper, pointier. Corvo blinked, shaking his head slightly. His imagination was playing tricks on him.

"You must agree formally," the Outsider said. His voice seemed to carry even farther than before. It filled every corner of the room, echoing strangely. 

Those eerie black eyes were fixed unerringly on Geoff. Corvo again felt reminded of some predatory animal waiting for a trap to spring. "Do you?"

Geoff took a deep breath. He looked pale and anxious, but his voice did not waver. "Yes."

***

An hour later, they were back at the apartment.

Geoff was resting in the guest room. He hadn't managed to take off his boots himself, so Corvo had pulled them off for him; bending over had proved difficult with fresh, oozing wounds on his chest.

The room was too small for a chair, and Corvo had no place to sit other than the foot of the bed. He hoped his presence did not disturb his friend. He appeared to be dozing, which was probably good; he'd been pasty white the whole way back, and it was clear he needed the rest.

Seeing the black-eyed boy dispassionately carve into Geoff's heaving chest had been difficult. Corvo had gritted his teeth until they hurt, and counted slowly to a hundred in his head while his nose filled with the scent of fresh blood. 

Jessamine had taken Emily outside, accompanied by Curnow. At first, Emily had insisted on staying, but when the Outsider had summoned a silver, somehow blurry knife to his hand, she'd pressed herself to Jessamine's legs and squeaked that she wanted to leave.

Altogether, Geoff had held up remarkably well; Corvo wasn't sure if he would have been able to endure like he had, in his position. Corvo crouched by his head and held both of his hands, holding firm against the pull of Geoff instinctively trying to cover his chest.

The boy carved and sliced, periodically wiping away the welling blood with his free hand. It caked under his nails and ran into the whorls of his knuckles. His sleeve grew heavy and wet.

By the time the Outsider was done, Geoff had been only half-conscious, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Corvo thought that there must have been a magical burning component to the cuts, causing even more pain; wisps of thin black smoke had risen from Geoff's blistering skin.

He held Geoff's head in his lap, using his own sleeve to wipe away the cold sweat on Geoff's face. Geoff's eyes had been half-shut, the lids fluttering over the whites.

"Thirty hours," the Outsider said. "No longer. Be ready."

They'd hauled Geoff back to the apartment, held up between Corvo and Curnow. This time, some of the commoners they passed had given them strange looks; with all that blood soaking the front of Geoff's shirt, their group was a bit more of a spectacle than they'd been before.

Corvo had craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Jessamine and Emily. They walked behind them, and Emily was a little green around the gills, and stared fixedly at the ground; she had likely caught an involuntary glimpse of Geoff's bloodied chest. Jessamine's hand was tight around hers, her courtly mask of cool indifference in place, though Corvo easily spotted the tense lines around her eyes.

Now, Geoff was fitfully asleep. More sweat beaded on his brow. His face was still pale, his eyes moving rapidly behind his closed lids. 

He did look better than he had before. They'd bandaged him up, and given him some cool water to drink, and there was some candy on the nightstand, waiting for him to wake up. Attano had told them that sucking on something sweet had helped him cope with the nausea of magic settling into his bones.

Corvo had drawn the curtains half-shut, hoping to spare his friend at least the annoyance of the setting sun slanting into his eyes. Karnacan sunsets were long and red-gold, and though it was well past seven by now, this one was far from over. The last bit of light would take hours to fade, and Corvo's mother had used to say that the sun adored Serkonos so well that it was reluctant to drop beyond the horizon...

There was a tentative knock on the half-open door. Curnow stood there, leaning cautiously into the room. "Lord Attano?"

It was very odd to see one Geoff Curnow stretched out on the bed, breathing shallowly in sleep, and another version standing up by the door. Curnow tilted his head towards the sitting room. "May I have a word?"

Corvo nodded. He stood, shifting his weight gently off the mattress so it wouldn't bounce and disrupt Geoff's sleep. He followed Curnow out into the hallway. 

Light from the sitting room lengthened their shadows on the floor. The scent of brewing tea wafted out of the kitchen, along with the hearty smell of cooking vegetables and spices. The balcony door was open, letting in the cooling air. A mingled murmur of Jessamine and Emily's voices drifted over.

"I was wondering-- forgive me," Curnow interrupted himself, scratching awkwardly at some stubble on his chin. "I know it's not my place, but-- you see, I am preparing dinner," he gestured to the kitchen, "and I was wondering if... if I make soup, will you... be able to eat it?"

Corvo blinked at him, surprised. He hadn't expected that at all... though perhaps he'd done Curnow a disservice. Like his counterpart, he was polite and considerate, and just by using his common sense, he'd picked one of the few foods Corvo could eat in public without embarrassing himself. 

He nodded, then hesitated. He had to warn Curnow not to make it too spicy; he wanted Emily and Jessamine both to get a good meal they would enjoy, as much as they could in these bizarre circumstances...

Corvo hid a sigh. He was well-versed in the graceless art of gesturing to make himself understood even to people who did not know any sign language, but he had no idea how to mime this.

Curnow clearly saw Corvo's difficulty. "Corvo!" he called into the sitting room, with an apologetic smile. "Come here, please?"

Attano padded over into the hallway. His feet were bare, and he wore a fresh shirt, one that opened far enough at the collar to expose the bandages that were still wrapped around his chest. The ends of his hair dripped wetly. He must have bathed recently, or at least washed.

It rankled, being unable to make himself understood without his other self's aid. Corvo still took care to sign slowly. _'Tell him not to put too many spices in the soup. They are not used to Serkonan cuisine.'_ He tilted his chin at the drawing room.

"Only got about half of that," Attano said cheerfully. "The food mustn't be too hot, is that right?"

Corvo suppressed a scowl. He nodded.

"Ah, of course," Curnow said. To his credit, he turned to Corvo when he spoke, instead of addressing Attano as their go-between. "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind. I wouldn't want to cause them any discomfort, not after the day they've had."

He smirked suddenly, sharing a fond glance with Attano. "Besides, I remember well how sensitive my palate was when I first came here. My counterpart does not need any more pain tonight."

Corvo hesitated. Curiosity pricked at him again--how and when had Curnow come to Karnaca? What had driven him to turn his back on Dunwall for good?

Now was not the time for questions, though. Corvo summoned a smile, although he felt Attano's eyes on him, and touched his fingertips to his chin, then drew his hand down and away.

Attano said, "He says--"

"You're welcome," Curnow interrupted. He looked questioningly at Corvo, who felt his smile thaw into something more genuine.

He nodded. Curnow grinned in relief. He reached out, then his hand hovered for a moment, hesitating. At last he clapped Corvo on the arm though, a careful but semi-familiar gesture.

It might be strange that he stood across from a man whose lover was his mirror image... but Curnow made him feel welcome, both with the soup and the simple, friendly touch. This unexpected kindness was a foothold in the chaos. It was more than Corvo would've thought to ask for, if someone had told him this morning how his day would go. 

He smiled at Curnow and dipped his head at him, a gesture of respect. He slipped past Attano without looking at him, following the sound of his daughter's voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing went quite fast for this chapter! I've got to admit I love & adore title name drops. I hope y'all do too. :D
> 
> I might actually explode soon; all the juiciest parts haven't even happened yet, and once they do & I get around to editing and posting those future chapters, my excitement may propel me into the stratosphere. (Not to worry, though, I will continue to write CorvoJess fic in lunar orbit.)
> 
> I don't remember where I got the idea that Jessamine's younger brother would have been named Micah; I'm no longer sure if it's my own headcanon or whether I absorbed someone else's... if anyone recognizes this idea as theirs, please let me know so I can give credit!
> 
> Content note for this chapter: mentions of (canon) past minor character death, including an infant.

The whale oil lamps were different here. 

They were made of hammered brass, for one, and did not look as sleek and polished as those in Dunwall. Ornaments had been pressed into the metal while it'd still been hot, swirling patterns of vines and leaves that must once have been shiny and new, but were now collecting dust and sand in their crevices.

The cool, bright light was the same, though. It left the same afterimages in Corvo's eyes. He had no idea whether the lamps in his world's Karnaca were the same; by the time they'd been invented, he had already been living in Gristol.

He couldn't help but stare at the light, wondering whether this dimension had its own Anton Sokolov, or if some other inventor was responsible for these lamps' creation..

Though dusk was still falling, the air had cooled considerably. A light breeze swept through the streets. It'd been enough to coax Corvo out onto the balcony and watch the first few adventurous moths bat their powdery wings against the lamp's unearthly glow.

All evening, he'd felt dazed and disconnected. Only a few details stood out sharply, like calluses catching on smooth fabric. 

Cool water running down his neck as he'd washed rudimentarily in the small bathroom, conversation warbling inaudibly just outside the door. He'd found himself staring at the shaving cream on the sink, wondering whether it belonged to his other self. Somehow, looking at it had made him queasy.

Emily's small hand had slipped into his as he'd come back out of the bathroom; she must have waited right by the door. From her unhappy expression, Corvo presumed that she'd wanted to come in with him, but Jessamine had stopped her...

Jessamine's eyes, blue and worried, lingering on his face. Perhaps she saw the odd, floaty sensation in his head, like a canvas that'd been scrubbed untidily until only some flecks and smears of paint remained. 

The familiar fragrance of soup, mouth-watering and nauseating at the same time, in a way that had nothing to do with Curnow's cooking. His teeth were clenching so hard his jaw ached; he couldn't seem to pry them apart.

Maybe they would all sit down to eat, and Corvo would be unable to stomach even a single mouthful. Eating would likely make him feel better, but what if he just couldn't cope with the memories? He had not expected to react so strongly to the scent...

"Lord Attano?"

Perhaps his thoughts had summoned the man. Corvo yanked his gaze off the lamp and looked at Curnow, who'd stepped out onto the balcony.

Whatever Curnow saw on his face, it couldn't have been good, because he opened his mouth, concern furrowing his brow. He hesitated, but then only said, "Dinner is served, if you're hungry."

Corvo nodded. He followed Curnow back inside.

The dining table was small, squeezed into an alcove between the kitchen and the front door. It had the look of a table well-loved, faded ink stains where hasty letters had been written, scratches and dents from the wear and tear of daily life.

It was far removed from the long, polished tables that Jessamine was used to dining at. She did not bat an eye, though, and seemed ready to sit down and eat with commoners as though she did it every day. 

It was Emily who was digging her heels in. She had her arms folded across her chest, and a mulish look about her. Her lower lip stuck out in the beginnings of a pout.

Corvo wondered sometimes whether she looked more like Jessamine or him when she was being obstinate; to his eyes, it seemed like a fairly even blend. There was something else in it, too, something uniquely her--the bull-headed stubbornness of childhood.

"I _told_ you," Emily said to the room at large, like everyone in it had wronged her personally. "I don't like soup."

Jessamine sighed. She didn't look impatient, merely tired. "Emily, please," she said. "You liked it just fine last week when Lady Brimsley visited us..."

"I didn't!" Emily insisted. Corvo could all but see her bracing herself, ready to dig her heels in. "I've never liked soup. It's boring and gross and I _hate_ it."

Attano snorted at her vehemence. His smile was warm, almost fond, but Curnow looked uncertain. "I think I've got some bread and cheese left?" he offered, glancing from Jessamine to Emily and back.

Jessamine tilted her head back to stare up at the ceiling, then dredged up some previously untapped reserves of strength. She sank to her knees before Emily and took her gently by the shoulders. 

"Emily," she said, "we are guests here. Geoff Curnow has most kindly prepared dinner for all of us. I know this is all very strange," she tucked a strand of Emily's hair behind her ear. "But you must remember who you are, and that your words have weight."

Emily deflated, her bluster dispelling just as fast as it'd come. She studied Jessamine's face, an uncertain furrow crinkling her brow. "I was rude," she said in a small voice, half-questioning.

Jessamine smiled at her. "I'm afraid you were, sweetling. Just a bit."

Emily looked up at Curnow. "I'm sorry," she said. The words wavered, her eyes gleaming wetly. The day had rattled her badly; though she was only ten, Emily's composure was usually sturdier than this. 

"It's alright, my lady," Curnow said, giving her a reassuring smile. "See, I did not like soup as a toddler, and indeed only grew to appreciate it when I was a little older..."

Emily pursed her lips, then sniffled. "I'm not a _toddler,"_ she said.

She wormed her way out of her mother's gentle hold and climbed up into the nearest chair. Her ankle banged into one of the table's legs and she winced, but still took up a spoon with a grim expression, like she was marching into battle.

Corvo held out his hand to Jessamine, who took it and rose, her knees popping. She surveyed Emily, sighing, torn between amusement and lingering disapproval.

"Well then!" Attano said cheerfully. Some fresh scraps of tact made him walk halfway around the table before he sat down as well, avoiding the chairs on either side of Emily. "Geoff, thank you for cooking..."

Jessamine took the seat at Emily's left, her hand lingering briefly on her shoulder. Usually, Emily could sulk with the best of them when she'd had any sort of disagreement with her mother. This time, she did not shrug off her touch. 

Soon there were only two chairs left, and Corvo suddenly found himself pulling out the one at the head of the table, to Emily's right. He glanced around hastily, but Curnow just gave him a half-shrug; he did not look like one who'd just had his seat at the table usurped.

Curnow ladled steaming soup into all of their bowls. Jessamine glanced at Emily, who watched the food with hawk-eyed determination, then looked at Corvo, and they shared a small smile.

Attano didn't wait until the Empress took up her spoon. He just leaned over his bowl like he feared someone would snatch it away, and started shoveling soup into his mouth. The still-damp ends of his hair curled against his neck.

Corvo bristled a little at his lack of manners. It was customary to let the Empress had the first taste of a meal--or the cook, if there was reason to suspect it might have been poisoned... then he shook off the thought, chastising himself. Obviously Attano had no need for the finer details of courtly life...

\--And had he just considered himself _well-mannered_ by comparison? Corvo held back a self-deprecating snort. For someone who always insisted he was every bit the Serkonan brute Jessamine's court saw in him, he certainly had quite conceited thoughts about his other self.

The soup was delicious, hearty and filling. To Corvo's relief, he could eat; as soon as he tasted tomatoes and peppers, his stomach unclenched and began growling instead. The vegetables were softened by the broth, easily swallowed even by him. True to his word, Curnow had infused the soup with only a little bit of spice, mindful of his guests' Gristolian palates.

Curnow took a bowl into the guest bedroom. A murmur of conversation drifted out into the hallway, flowing back and forth for a while. Geoff's voice sounded weak, but mostly steady. 

Corvo thought he overheard Callista's name, and clattered around with his spoon, trying not to listen. Those were family matters, best kept between the two Curnows present.

He couldn't imagine what a shock it had been for Curnow to find out that Geoff lived with his niece--a young woman, now, no longer the baby he remembered... Corvo did not know anything about the family feud; all he knew was that Geoff and his sister-in-law had not been on good terms when she'd died. Unwilling to pry into painful matters, he had never asked Geoff about it. 

Corvo counted the spoonfuls he ate. He took deep breaths of the steam that rose from his bowl, and tried not to think of anything but the meal before him. He could worry about Geoff and fume silently at the city later. Right now, the task at hand was to provide his tired body with sustenance. 

Curnow must have spent long minutes chopping the vegetables as finely as he could; though the amount of sensation left to Corvo's mouth was obviously limited, he only felt small, occasional bumps of soft texture against the insides of his cheeks. Perhaps Curnow had been worried he might choke on bigger chunks...

Something bumped into Corvo's foot under the table. He glanced up. 

Jessamine was looking down at her own meal, but she sat lopsidedly, like she was stretching out one leg to reach him. That was unmistakably her foot, knocking against his and then settling right next to his left boot.

A smaller heel hit his knee, then scraped down his shin until it encountered the top of his boot. Next to him, Emily winced and shot him an apologetic look--she hadn't meant to kick him. She scooted down in her seat for a better angle, turned her foot and clumsily ran the top of her shoe down Corvo's shin.

Corvo hid a small, wan smile in his bowl. His heart warmed, gentling its uneven hammering. His family were here, and they were both covertly trying to reassure him... though he tried to hide it, his discomfited state had to be wildly obvious to them.

His smile faded. He had to do better than this. They had _all_ been thrust unexpectedly into his erstwhile home; it wasn't fair to Emily and Jessamine to let himself crumble like this. 

They needed him to keep a clear head. For them, he had to preserve his composure, shove down his temper and old, reeling despair until they were safely back in Dunwall... He took a deep breath and ate the last spoonful of his soup, resolving to hold on tighter.

***

The tea was so sweet that it made Corvo's teeth ache.

The first mouthful nearly made him choke. He winced, pressed the stub of his tongue upward, and managed to swallow, sucking in a hasty breath.

He should've expected this, really. It was Serkonan tradition to finish off a meal with tea, and it was only logical that after serving them Serkonan soup, Curnow would be privy to this custom as well.

The pot of strong, sugar-infused mint tea was still nearly full, spreading its fresh, soothing scent through the room. As was typical for Karnacan tea sets, the cups were very small. This tea was meant to be sipped slowly, not gulped down out of big mugs.

The tea pot was propped up on a warmer. Corvo recognized the simple, hammered metal design; he was almost certain his mother had used to have one just like this. It even had similar scorch marks at the top. 

A bowl of sugar sat, somewhat optimistically, beside the warmer. There was even a small can of milk. The local custom didn't include milk in mint tea, but Curnow had brought it anyway, probably eager to offer them the full range of his kitchen, and make the tea more palatable in case they found its strong flavor distasteful.

It wasn't outright _odd_ to think of Curnow cooking, but definitely... strange. From what Corvo knew of Geoff, he was not overly fond of spending time around kitchens. 

In Dunwall, the Curnows had an elderly housekeeper who prepared most meals for them. Corvo didn't doubt that Geoff was capable of cooking, but he couldn't imagine him having this kind of patience for it.

Jessamine, for one, seemed delighted by the sweet tea. She sipped her cup with a small smile, inhaling the steam. She'd half-slumped back into the couch, relaxing out of her usual rigid posture, and warmed her hands around the porcelain.

"I had tea like this with Duke Theodanis once," she said to Curnow, conversationally. "He visited Dunwall when I was sixteen--to see how Corvo was getting on, I believe," she added, with a glance at him, "and he brought me a whole tin of the finest mint leaves. I was quite sorry to see it go when I'd used it up."

The bruise on her cheek stood out starkly, darker in the low light. Corvo was not sure whether she had truly relaxed a bit, or whether it was just tiredness that forced her to let go of her usual poise.

"Oh, yes, the Duke is fond of it," Curnow replied. "I've heard that he has a secret plantation up north, near Saggunto, that he only suffers his most trusted gardeners to tend to..."

The conversation tapered off again. The silence was mostly comfortable, though it had a tired, overwrought quality, like damp, cool air after a storm.

Jessamine, Emily, and Corvo were not the only ones who'd had a trying day. Curnow had spent hours worrying about his lover, and Attano had journeyed through space and time, throwing his resolve and the swiftness of his sword into the balance to help save the Empress' life...

Emily was dozing, slumped against her mother's shoulder. She'd eaten two bowls of soup; after her first spoonful, her eyes had widened in unfeigned delight, and she'd scarfed down the rest with impressive speed although Jessamine had gently nudged her several times to remind her of her table manners.

Personally, Corvo had never warmed up to Gristolian soup. He found it too thin, almost flavorless. An odd, misplaced ember of pride glowed in his chest: his daughter enjoyed the soup from his homeland... 

"--and yet we are so _different,"_ Attano was saying to Curnow, quite seriously. 

He was sprawled on the couch and had given up all pretense of decorum; he'd hooked one leg over Curnow's thigh, pressed casually close in the manner of a couple who had been together for so long that they took comfort from the casual physical contact.

"Yes, Corvo," Curnow said, with a small, indulgent smile. He was leaning back too, but his eyes were still a little watchful. His hand kept creeping down his own thigh, like he wanted to put it on Attano's knee, then paused and withdrew. After a beat, it began its journey again. "It's very--"

"We _look_ alike, yes," Attano said, squinting at Corvo and speaking more to him now than to anyone else. "We are both proficient fighters. But other than that..."

Curnow rolled his eyes, but fondly, with the air of one who'd heard the same thing multiple times. Attano frowned and jostled him a little, unwilling to drop it. "Isn't it _strange,"_ he said insistently, "how one small decision can make lives turn out so differently?"

Corvo stared at him. It was the most talkative he'd seen his other self so far, and he wondered briefly if he'd spiked his tea with whiskey... but perhaps this was just Attano's way of blowing off steam after a long and turbulent day. 

He knew himself to be the opposite; he tended to grow quieter under stress, slipping away behind a stoic mask. Perhaps this, too, had something to do with the loss of his tongue. Would he have become as chatty as Attano was now, if those soldiers hadn't ambushed him? 

But no; he couldn't imagine that it was only that. They were just... _different._. 

Attano was somehow more outspoken, and certainly more confident. He was not exactly friendlier, but more disposed to good cheer. His manner was less serious, not as earnest as Corvo's, and his words were frequently careless, bordering on rude...

 _"Think_ about it," Attano encouraged now. He looked around at all of them, a small, baffled smile at the corners of his mouth. He looked younger somehow, almost boyish in his excitement.

"He went to--" He caught himself, wincing, and turned to Corvo. "I'm sorry, _you_ went to Gristol and I stayed here, and our lives turned out so vastly different..."

Corvo inclined his head. He felt a reluctant spark of appreciation that Attano spoke directly to him, rather than talking about him as though he couldn't hear.

"I wouldn't call that a small decision," Curnow pointed out. He seemed to have wedged his fingertips under Attano's thigh now, a touch more covert than clasping his knee in affection would have been. "It changed the entire course of--"

"This is the stuff that those natural philosophers dream of at night." Attano stared at Corvo almost hungrily, his gaze flickering between his eyes, like he wanted to peel back Corvo's skull and gaze directly at the thoughts underneath. "A _single_ point of divergence, and now we are similar only in looks, and perhaps a little bit in character still..."

He snorted, some of his tension dissipating. "I mean, can you imagine? Me, a lord?" he said to Curnow.

Corvo held back an eyeroll. The goosebumps of discomfort that'd broken out on his arms faded slowly. He set down his cup of sweet, cooling tea and signed, _'Only by name, not truly by station.'_

Attano bit his lip, then spread his hands apologetically. "You are, uh-- what?"

"Corvo claims he's only a lord by name, not by station," Jessamine spoke up suddenly. Corvo twitched a little in surprise; the full weight of Attano's attention had been so magnetic that he'd all but forgotten they were not alone.

Jessamine narrowed her eyes at Corvo. She looked like she might have jostled him with her elbow, had Emily not been sitting between them. "And _yes,_ you are. Have any of my courtiers been treating you with disrespect?"

Corvo shook his head. He hid a smile. This was a point of-- not _contention,_ but certainly repeated discussion. He insisted that his grafted-on title did not change anything about his low birth, and she countered that true nobility had little to do with the circumstances of one's origins. He pointed out that most of her courtiers thought differently, and she declared that their attitudes were as antiquated as some of their inherited manors...

Attano studied him curiously. The light caught the flecks of amber in his eyes, brightening them to near-gold. "I wonder why you left and I stayed," he said slowly, like he had barely heard the small interlude. "Why you turned your back on Serkonos, and I did not..."

Corvo looked back at him, silent. Even if he'd still been in possession of his tongue, he would have been at a loss for words. 

How was he to explain that? It'd been so long ago now... and the circumstances had not really involved a conscious decision on his part. The Duke had told him to ready himself for a sea voyage, at the end of which he would be given to the Emperor as a gift, and Corvo had followed his order.

Yes, he'd felt stirrings of trepidation at the prospect of moving to Gristol. Living in Dunwall, the Empire's pulsing heart, with its shrewd court and famously belligerent Parliament... it'd been a frightening prospect, but an unavoidable one. Saying no to the Duke hadn't even crossed his mind. It had simply not been an option.

"Perhaps I did not feel as beholden to the Duke as you did," Attano suggested, his eyes still fixed on him. Corvo winced; he had the uncomfortable feeling that his famously stony expression was more of an open book to his counterpart than he would have liked it to be. 

"Or perhaps I had friends to hold me here whom you did not. Or," he added, frowning, "this Duke didn't feel the need to ingratiate himself with the late Emperor, since he never actually told me to go to Gristol." 

Corvo raised his eyebrows. This world's Duke Theodanis hadn't--? That seemed very strange. The Duke he knew had been planning to travel to Dunwall for months, and he had informed Corvo of his role a week before his departure. Maybe the diplomatic relations between this realm's Gristol and Serkonos were different.

"--And now you are a lord, and I am a commoner still." Attano gave him a slightly unhinged grin. "We should bring this before the Academy of Natural Philosophy. It's an incredible example of-- what did that mathematician call it?" He snapped his fingers. "The Single Stroke of a Wing."

"The Butterfly Effect," Curnow corrected with a little sigh.

He looked at Attano with a kind of weary affection. His small smile was warm and indulgent. Corvo had the feeling that he'd heard all this before. 

How much time had Attano said he'd had to prepare for his journey to Dunwall--a week? Had he spent all seven days buried alternately in books about sign language, and treatises on philosophy, or mathematics, or whatever this was?

Jessamine cleared her throat. "The what?" she asked.

Attano smiled at her. That boyish excitement still brightened his eyes; he seemed quite happy to answer her question. "It is a theory by which the smallest change in the course of one life," and he held his finger and thumb barely a hair's width apart, "the most miniscule action, can have far-reaching consequences." 

He leaned back like a would-be magician who'd just performed a novel card trick. Jessamine's eyebrows rose slowly; she did not look convinced.

Curnow glanced between them, then cleared his throat. "The original hypothesis," he said, "was that the beat of a butterfly's wing, though tiny in itself, could trigger a series of aerial disturbances that might one day lead to a storm..."

Corvo wrinkled his nose. Natural philosophy, let alone mathematics, had never been his strong suit, or even a particular area of interest. His other self's enthusiasm was oddly out of place; he didn't seem like the type of man to be fascinated with the sciences...

\--Perhaps that was unfair of him, though. Attano was irreverent, frequently rude, and fought like a bloodied storm unleashed; that did not mean he was stupid. Corvo knew very well how grating it could be to be consistently underestimated. Whether he felt affection or disgust for this man, he didn't want to do Attano the same disservice.

"Which mathematician was this?" Jessamine asked now, reluctantly curious.

"Berthold Angevin," Curnow answered, pronouncing the name with easy familiarity. He shot Attano a long-suffering look. "And I have heard a lot about him this past week. He hails from Morley, I think."

Jessamine's eyes widened. _"Count_ Berthold Angevin?" she asked, baffled.

Attano and Curnow exchanged a look. "He's not a count here, is he?" Attano inquired.

"I don't think so," Curnow said, shaking his head. "The books didn't say anything about that... you know him, your majesty?"

"Not personally," Jessamine replied, "but I've had dealings with him in the past. We made a trade agreement a few years back to help his country flourish..."

Another startled glance passed between Attano and Curnow. Curnow opened, then closed his mouth, blinking at Jessamine in confusion. Attano asked, "Morley is part of your Empire?"

"Yes," Jessamine said, now puzzled herself. She put down her cup at last, setting it carefully back on its small saucer. "Why wouldn't it be?"

It was a testament to Curnow's confusion that he did not immediately offer to fill her cup again. He hesitated and licked his lips, visibly struggling to find a polite way to explain. "The Insurrection... did it happen in your world, too?"

Jessamine folded her hands in her lap. Corvo heard her slip partway into the calm but stern tone of voice she used when she disagreed with her councillors, bracing herself for more dissent and frustration. "Yes, but they've atoned enough."

Attano pursed his lips. "In this world, they haven't," he said plainly, not bothering to mince his words. "At least, that's the official word from Dunwall. There's talk, once in a while, of renaming the Empire, since not all isles are part of it. The Empire of the West, was the last suggestion I heard..."

Jessamine absorbed this with a stony, closed-off stare. A small frown made its way through her mask. Corvo could almost see her think about and discarded several things to say. Finally, she settled on, "It seems that, in this dimension, I take after my father much more."

Curnow winced, grimacing. Attano took his leg off his thigh and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and folded his hands with a sigh.

He said, more cautiously than was his wont, "Your majesty... there is something you should know." 

Jessamine straightened instantly. Her moving arm jostled Emily, whose head sunk a little lower against her shoulder, her tangled hair obscuring her face. "What is it?"

Curnow opened his mouth, then glanced helplessly at Attano, who said, "In this dimension, you-- well, you do not exist."

Jessamine's eyes went wide. She froze completely, her posture stiffening although she did not move. _"What?"_

"You look like our Emperor," Curnow said, hurriedly; perhaps he was trying to be reassuring. "A little bit, at least... you have the same eyes, the same chin."

Corvo almost gaped at them, then caught himself; Attano and Curnow had taken them in with much courtesy, and the least he could do was spare them the sight of his open mouth. This world... had no Jessamine Kaldwin of its own? How in the Void was that possible?

Jessamine raised one hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose. Her fingers shook a little. Some color had drained from her face, leaving her cheeks looking sunken and pale. "Your... who?" she half-whispered. Her voice was unsteady.

"Our Emperor," Attano repeated. "Micah Kaldwin. First-born son of Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin and Beatrix Blayne Kaldwin."

Jessamine went even paler. For a moment, her eyes pressed tightly shut. Wrinkles formed on her eyelids, her lashes quivering, and Corvo's heart gave a painful lurch. His hands itched to reach out to her, rest a palm on her shoulder in silent support, but he forced himself into stillness. 

Micah, Corvo knew, was the name her mother would have chosen for her second child, had her son--and she--lived... it was a family heirloom, though Corvo didn't know exactly where the name had come from. He'd only heard about it after Jessamine's mother had died.

The little grave adjacent to Beatrix' bore the name though, spelled in small, carefully chiseled lettering. Corvo saw it every year when Jessamine visited her mother's grave to pay her respects.

Curnow cleared his throat. Regret deepened the lines on his face. He said, "Some years ago, Beatrix Blayne Kaldwin died in childbirth, along with her... her daughter."

"Oh," Jessamine said weakly. She wiped her wrist across her forehead and looked back at Curnow, slightly dazed. "When... when did--?"

"1821, I think it was," Attano said, and Curnow nodded.

"Yes, 1821. Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin died about four years after his wife. Micah was only sixteen when he became the youngest Emperor in recorded history. He spent the first few years fending off attempts by his Parliament to instate a Lord Regent until he came of age."

"Oh," Jessamine whispered again. A deep frown crumpled her brow. 

Another divergence, Corvo knew: her mother had died in 1818, and her father had steered the Empire alone for seven more years until his death in 1825. Jessamine had been twenty when she'd taken the throne, and she seemed to have been spared some of the turmoil that'd marked the beginning of her-- her _brother's_ reign...

"What about me?" 

Jessamine flinched and looked down at Emily with slightly glazed eyes. Emily had spoken up suddenly, revealing that she had not fallen asleep after all. She still had her cheek pressed to Jessamine's arm, but her gaze was bright and alert.

"Do I exist here?" she asked Curnow, tilting her head against her mother's shoulder. She seemed only curious, unbothered by the talk of death.

"No, my lady," Curnow said apologetically. "I'm afraid not."

"Well, perhaps the Emperor has some illegitimate children," Attano cut in, "but they're not known."

Emily wrinkled her nose, but didn't comment. She sank back down into the couch, worming a thin arm under Jessamine's, until she could settle comfortably against her shoulder again. 

Now that her moment of interest in the conversation had faded, Corvo saw the shadows under her eyes, her drooping lids. They would have to put her to bed soon.

A brief silence fell. Curnow noticed Jessamine's empty cup, and dutifully refilled it. The strong, sugary fragrance of mint tea drifted over to Corvo. She warmed her hands on her cup, her eyes dark and thoughtful. 

Curnow rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking between Attano and Corvo. Stubble rasped against his palm. "That Gristol-bound ship sure set off one hell of a storm," he mused.

 _"Lord_ Attano," Attano tried, then snorted and shook his head. "No, I can't see it. On you, yes, but not on me. I'm too impatient for that sort of thing."

"And cocky," Curnow added. He smirked, jostling Attano's knee with his. "Imagine you in Parliament. You would not be able to hold your-- keep your mouth shut."

"True," Attano acknowledged. He did not seem offended by his partner's assessment. "I cannot imagine passively standing by as daft lords prattle on about crop taxes."

Over the rim of her cup, Jessamine offered a wan smile, trying to put away her troubled thoughts. "Corvo did once drag a high-born out by the ear at a state dinner," she offered.

Attano barked out a surprised laugh. Emily twitched sleepily. "Really? What did the man _do?"_

Corvo frowned at him preemptively; this was no laughing matter, and he would not tolerate his other self insulting Jessamine by extension as he made fun of him. _'He insulted the Empress.'_

"He insulted the Empress," Attano translated, for Curnow's sake. "Of course." 

He glanced between Corvo and Jessamine, grinning. Corvo had not seen him smile quite like this; the flash of his teeth transformed that smug expression into something that was not snide, but held genuine warmth. 

To Corvo he said, "Perhaps you and I are not so different after all." He toasted Corvo with his cup and downed the rest of his tea, tilting his head back to get the last sugary dregs.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a whole number of my favorite moments, it's hard to pick which one I like most, but-- probably the kitchen scene. That one almost wrote itself! Some of that dialogue was among the very first snippets I wrote for this fic.
> 
> Shoutout to my roommate, the incomparable fowo, who taught me how to make proper green tea years ago when I was but a wee noob! FYI, you're not supposed to pour boiling hot water over it. Turns out I actually love green tea, when I don't burn those poor leaves into oblivion. About 70°C is a good temperature for your water to be at! And don't let it sit for too long.
> 
> Anyway--I'm sorry about the delay, RL obligations are kicking my ass, but I hope you enjoy this chapter! <3

Corvo couldn't sleep.

He braced his hands against the balcony's metal railing. The cool night air smelled like salt. The same sea that'd flooded Dunwall's financial district lapped at the shores of Karnaca, but somehow it still smelled different this far south... richer, thicker somehow.

There were only a few small spots of rust under his palms. Moisture had no chance to eat away at metal in the hot summer months. And while Attano might not care if his balcony looked decrepit, Corvo had a feeling that Curnow, at least, regularly rubbed off the rust that formed during the cooler winters.

The nocturnal sounds of Karnaca were both familiar and not. They had to work their way through a clingling tide of Corvo's memories, mingling past and present into a muddy slop.

He felt like a snapped rubber band. A muffling veil had been drawn away from his senses, exposing him to the high, wavering hum of mosquitos and the powdery whisper of moths' wings beating against the whale oil lantern.

His heart hammered, overwhelmed and high-strung. Everything was too loud, too sharp. The crickets seemed to chirp atop his shoulders. The distant laughter and footsteps that drifted up from the alley below felt like shouts right in his ear.

Corvo let out a slow breath. The whale oil lamp stung his eyes. Even the yellowish lights that shone out of the other windows down the street seemed too bright. It was a strange state to be in--not unlike a hangover, just without the headache.

Inside, Jessamine was putting Emily to bed. At first, Corvo had tried to help. He had thought he hid his anxiety quite well, but she'd taken one look at his face and told him to get some fresh air instead. 

When Emily complained, Jessamine had said firmly, "Corvo has had a very long day, just like us. Would you begrudge him his rest?"

Emily's lower lip trembled. "No..." she said, reluctant. The wet sheen in her eyes tore at Corvo's heart, and if it'd been up to him he would have sat down with his daughter and pushed his own exhaustion to the side.

But Jessamine seemed determined to create a little space and solitude for him. "Corvo will look in on us before he goes to sleep himself," she said. "Won't he?"

Corvo nodded. "But then I'll be asleep," Emily complained instantly, "and I can't tell him good night when I'm sleeping!" She had that stubborn gleam in her eyes that usually heralded a tantrum.

Jessamine stayed calm, though, as though her endurance increased while Corvo's strength faded. She put a steadying hand on Emily's shoulder, trying to help her hold on to her composure. "You can tell him good night now," she said gently.

Emily pursed her lips. Her chin quivered. She'd had such a harrowing day, and Corvo wanted nothing more than for her to get some rest, preferably without working herself up into a crying fit now. 

Her lashes were damp, but after giving it a moment's thought, she seemed to find that doable. She sniffled when she clambered half onto Corvo's lap for an embrace. "Sleep well," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry you're stressed."

Corvo smoothed a hand over her hair. His chest hurt. She shouldn't ever have sounded so timid and weepy. He wished, oh how he wished he could have _spoken_ to her, found words of reassurance to murmur into her ear... 

He coaxed her back carefully, squeezing her shoulders in reassurance. He held up his right hand, thumb, index, and littlest finger extended while his middle and ring finger folded down into his palm. 

Emily smiled. It was a bit steadier than Corvo had expected. "I love you too," she said. "This much," she added, and hugged him again, squeezing so hard around his neck that it actually hurt.

Corvo made an only mostly-faked choking noise. Emily giggled wetly and let him go.

He'd spared a moment to look into the guest room. Geoff was asleep too, much more deeply than before. He lay completely still. His slack face looked pale, but he was no longer sweating; hopefully, that meant he was feeling better. 

The mark on his chest had to be healing, or at least scabbing over. Corvo hadn't wanted to pull away the blankets to check on the bandages. There was no strange black fog lingering in the room, so whatever the Outsider had meant by his magic 'finding its home,' it was not disturbing Geoff's rest.

He'd tried to sleep, sprawled as best as he could on the second couch. For a while, Jessamine's worried gaze had been fixed on him; she and Emily were lying on the larger couch, and Emily had fallen asleep almost instantly, not rousing even when Corvo settled down. 

Before long, though, Jessamine had dropped off too, leaving Corvo to get up again, unobserved.

The night sky was fully dark now. Stars sprawled across the ink-blank expanse, the constellations subtly different than they were in Dunwall... 

As a child, he'd tried to memorize them, informing Beatrici that ships used the stars to navigate out at sea. She'd given him a half-worried, half-indulgent look and told him to focus on running away from the city guard instead.

His temples twinged with the shadow of a headache. He shook his head to clear it. He hadn't thought about his sister in years--not like this. He occasionally wondered where she might have ended up, if she was well... but it had been a long time since he'd pictured her so clearly, her dark eyes that'd been just like his, and her brown hair that'd curled wildly above her ears...

A rustle came from the apartment. The door behind him opened, and Curnow stepped out onto the balcony, pulling the door half-shut.

He surveyed Corvo for a moment, assessing. Corvo wasn't sure if he looked as exhausted as he felt; he hoped not. He straightened to his full height and found himself folding his hands behind his back, as though Curnow were some overseeing officer who'd come to inspect the balcony.

Curnow cleared his throat. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a flat metal case that smelled of cigars. "Do you smoke?"

Corvo shook his head, though he winced inwardly--he did not want to offend the person who'd showed them all, and himself especially, such thoughtful regard.

Curnow smiled, unoffended, and put the case away. "He doesn't either," he said, tilting his head back at the door. Corvo hadn't seen Attano in a while, so he'd assumed he had retired to his and Curnow's shared bedroom. "A drink, then, perhaps?"

Corvo hesitated, then held out his hand with his index finger and thumb barely an inch apart, hoping it would convey that his tolerance for alcohol was _very_ low, and if Curnow didn't want his strange guest blind drunk he'd better only serve him a tiny bit of whiskey.

Curnow nodded. He disappeared back inside, so quietly that Corvo heard no noise at all from the kitchen, not even a clink of glass. 

When he came back out, he passed Corvo a glass that had barely a finger's width of whiskey in it, gleaming golden in the light in the lantern's light.

Corvo tapped his fingertips against his chin in the sign for 'thank you,' then took the glass. It was heavy in his hand, of decent quality even though it was still a far cry from the beautifully engraved crystal glasses at the Tower.

He braced himself and took a sip, swallowing quickly. The alcohol burned all the way down. It was a long shot, and not something he would usually have done, but tonight he hoped that the whiskey might make him tired. Alcohol sometimes had that effect on him. 

And tomorrow they would have to survive another day here in Karnaca. Thirty hours, the Outsider had said, until they got the chance to use Geoff's freshly acquired mark to go home... the clock was ticking down distantly at the back of Corvo's mind. 

He _had_ to be well-rested in the morning, for Jessamine and Emily. He had to protect them from whatever the city would throw their way... even if it was just his own ghosts.

Tipsy laughter drifted up from the street. A female voice rose above the others in a high-pitched giggle. Curnow sighed to himself, then moved to lean against the railing, thoughtfully swishing his whiskey around in his glass. Corvo noticed that he'd poured himself considerably more.

"The noise was-- irritating, at first," he said, gesturing down at the street. "Dunwall is larger than Karnaca, but it is quieter at night. --You know this, of course," he added, shooting Corvo an apologetic look. "I used to be unable to sleep unless I sealed my ears with wax. It took some getting used to."

Corvo nodded. He'd had the opposite problem when he'd first come to Dunwall. Certainly there were some celebrations and gatherings in the streets, but the occasional quiet, echoing chatter was nothing like Karnaca's constant hustle and bustle. 

Corvo had grown up in a city that never slept; in Dunwall, he'd turned to keeping his window open at night to catch the few small noises that drifted through the night air. He'd found the Tower's near-total silence unsettling.

Curnow drank a rather large gulp of whiskey. He grimaced a little. For a moment he stared down at his glass as though captivated by the remains of his drink. Then he took a deep breath and turned to face Corvo.

"You do not know me, and I don't know you," he began. "Your affairs are your own, and I am entirely aware that this is none of my business..." 

Corvo raised an eyebrow. The alcohol warmed his stomach and made his head swim just a little. It was almost embarrassing how quickly it went into his blood; he wondered belatedly if his other self had a similarly low tolerance, or if this was one of the traits they did not share.

There was a nervous flicker in Curnow's eyes, a wariness in the way he held himself. Like he half expected Corvo to lunge across the slim distance between them and, what? Throw him off the balcony into the street below?

He said, "Forgive me, but I must ask, in my other self's interest." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and finally made himself meet Corvo's gaze. "Will you report him?"

Corvo stared back at him, nonplussed. He had no idea what the man was talking about.

"To the City Watch," Curnow clarified. "The Overseers. Once you're back in your realm, in Dunwall."

It clicked suddenly, putting a clench of nausea in his stomach. Curnow thought Corvo was disgusted with Geoff's--and his--proclivities, and feared repercussions for Geoff... 

Corvo shook his head, frustrated once again that he couldn't properly tell Curnow that he would _not_ do that, ever, not of his own free will. Even if he and Geoff drifted apart or their friendship ended in a heated argument, Corvo would keep his secret.

It'd been a surprise, of course, to see Curnow kiss Corvo's mirror image so fervently when they'd all crashed into their dining room. But Geoff's tense, wary silence at last made sense, as well as the anxious glances he'd been casting at Corvo and Jessamine...

"Oh! Of course," Curnow said, reading the frustration on Corvo's face. He reached into his pocket. "This time I had some foresight."

He produced a folded sheet of paper and a pencil, passing both to Corvo. 

Corvo wrote by the lantern's cool light, brushing away a curious moth that got interested in the white page reflecting the glow. He had to brace the paper against the thin railing, which made writing legibly harder; he'd never had the neatest handwriting.

He handed back the paper, and Curnow leaned into the light to read. There was a deep furrow in his brow. He'd visibly braced himself, and now read with his lips pressed into a thin line, ready to take whatever insults he feared Corvo had flung at him and his counterpart.

_'I do not care whom Geoff goes to bed with. He is a close, steadfast friend, and I can only hope that my company gives him as much solace as his does me. His proclivities do not change anything. I would never, ever wish harm upon him, least of all for which sex he does or does not love. I will protect him from anyone who might think otherwise, whether they carry swords or wear an Overseer's mask.'_

Curnow relaxed visibly the further he read. He let out a long sigh when he was done, his gaze resting on the last few lines of Corvo's missive. 

"Well," he said at last with a weak smile, "it seems my worrying was for naught. And his, too."

Corvo blinked, surprised. Geoff had been concerned that Corvo would...? Corvo sucked in a breath through his teeth, hiding a small flinch. This wasn't about him, he reminded himself. Geoff's fear was understandable; it was not a reflection of the strength of their friendship. 

\--Was this perhaps the reason for the family feud that Corvo had only ever caught small glimpses of? Geoff's sister-in-law had refused to speak to him for years, Corvo knew, and when she'd died, her daughter had been placed under Geoff's care... Callista had been wary for a time, and it'd taken a while for her to warm up to her uncle... perhaps her mother had poisoned her mind with diatribes about Geoff's character.

For now, Corvo pushed the thought away. It was none of his business, or at least not yet. He might ask Geoff about it one day, but now was not the time to pry where he hadn't been invited. 

Curnow looked at him searchingly. "And... what about," he gestured towards the drawing room, hesitant, "the Empress and her daughter? _\--Your_ daughter," he amended.

Corvo shook his head. Geoff's secret would be safe with Jessamine, though one or both of them would have to have a talk with Emily to assess whether she understood the ramifications, and why she was not to say a word to anyone. 

Curnow glanced between his eyes, then sighed and nodded. His shoulders drooped. For a moment Corvo thought he saw him shudder slightly, a great wave of relief shaking him.

"I'm glad," he said abruptly, seeming to come to a decision, "that the Geoff Curnow of your world has your friendship. Thank you."

Corvo waved his thanks away; for this, Curnow should not have had to be grateful. It was just what any friend to Geoff would have done. Both Geoffs had been betrayed in the past, though--perhaps even by their own families--and while this gratitude made Corvo's heart ache, he understood the need for it.

Curnow folded the paper and tucked it away. From the slow way he slid it into his pocket, Corvo got the feeling that he would keep it, preserve it, perhaps to remind himself that his other self was not facing off against a crowd of Dunwall's stern, masked Overseers alone.

A last mouthful of whiskey stung his throat. Corvo took his time swallowing the last drops, turning away to give Curnow a moment to compose himself. Down in the street, it sounded like people were much more prolific drinkers. The chatter had grown louder, and someone seemed to be trying to start a drinking song, but the women of the group kept dissolving into laughter every time they started singing. 

"Alright," Curnow said, clearing his throat with some difficulty. "I've kept you from sleep for long enough, my lord..."

Corvo wished briefly for the paper so he could explain that he had been sleepless before Curnow had found him. But he got the feeling that Curnow wished to leave him anyway; Corvo was well-acquainted with the fatigue that sometimes came after a moment of great relief.

So he just handed Curnow his empty glass and gave him a shrug and a half-smile, trying to project silent understanding. 

"I'll leave you to it?" Curnow asked, his expression slightly pinched. He was likely battling the rules of propriety that dictated he should entertain his guest until Corvo felt sleepy.

Corvo nodded. Curnow sighed, smiling ruefully, then glanced out at the nocturnal city, his gaze tracing the other illuminated windows. The crickets had gotten louder, bolder, their chirping echoing through the alley below.

"It must be strange to be back here," Curnow mused. "This is not quite _your_ Karnaca, but--" 

He cleared his throat again. Their empty glasses clinked together in his hands. "What I mean to say is, please make yourself at home. The Empress, too," he added, tilting his chin at the apartment where Jessamine and Emily slept. "Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen..."

Corvo nodded, somewhat touched. They had intruded into this man's life with no warning, and plunged it into chaos--well, more chaos than there'd been before, when it had been only Attano involved with the black-eyed boy and his magic. He had opened his home to them, and his kitchen... 

There was little Corvo could do to make his thoughts known, not without another sheet of paper, or someone to translate. He made a mental note to remind Jessamine to thank Curnow before they left.

If Curnow found anything extraordinary in his own generous hospitality, he didn't show it. Then again, kind people rarely noticed their own good quality. 

Curnow bade him goodnight, and they went back inside together, with Curnow tiptoeing into the hallway, presumably to retreat to his and Attano's bedroom.

Corvo sat back down on the couch. He couldn't bring himself to lie flat on his back, but he scooted down a bit, making his seat as comfortable as he could. This way, he could see Emily and Jessamine, two lumps under the blanket on the larger couch.

He undid his belt and pulled it out of the loops, placing his sword next to him. The leather-covered scabbard shimmered reassuringly in the low light.

Jessamine had turned towards the cushioned back of the couch. Only a black tangle of hair was visible, though her left arm was still wrapped around her daughter. Her shoulder would likely ache in the morning.

Emily lay facing Corvo, half her face hidden by the blanket. Her breathing was quiet and slow. 

As nocturnal sounds went, it was certainly more peaceful than the bird calls and distant chatter that'd marked the nights of his childhood. The alcohol had done its part to relax him; his head swam just slightly, the edges of his thoughts blurring.

Corvo closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly, a wave that rose over him, aided by Emily and Jessamine's breathing, and the occasional rustle of their blankets.

***

Dawn was just starting to creep across the sky when Corvo woke.

It was very early still. In his sleep, Corvo had slid down some more from his seated position. His back ached. Silvery rose-colored light trickled in through the balcony door. 

The room was chilly. He sat up and rubbed briskly at his arms, though he didn't feel cold, exactly--his body remembered growing up here, and how cold the nights got even in the summer months.

He stood and stretched, wincing as his back popped several times. He heard no noise from elsewhere in the apartment; their hosts were probably still asleep. Yesterday had been a trying day for them too.

He tiptoed past the larger couch, where Emily lay sleeping, curled up on her side with her thumb in her mouth. His heart twisted at the sight; it'd been years since she had broken that habit with the earnest aid of her favorite nanny... Perhaps she'd half-woken in the night, drowsy and frightened by the unfamiliar surroundings, and had known no other way to feel safer.

The door to the guest room didn't creak when he nudged it open. The light was stronger here, coming through the east-facing window. Geoff was asleep, flat on his back but with his left arm flung out to the side, like he'd tried to turn over in his sleep and his wounded chest had protested.

The clock in the hallway ticked. Corvo watched the rise and fall of Geoff's ribs. His face was slack, expressionless. He didn't look like he was in pain, or likely to wake up any time soon, so Corvo backed out of the room and gently closed the door.

Jessamine sat in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and messy-haired. She squinted into the glaring light of a whale oil lamp. It sputtered a little, dimming once in a while; its oil reserve was running low. The bruise on her cheek had darkened over night, the edges gone greenish yellow.

She'd gotten a sheet of paper from somewhere and was writing feverishly, scribbled notes in her messiest cursive. The pencil was blunted already. A rectangular drawing took up the middle of the page, and when Corvo glanced over her shoulder, he recognized the seating plan of her Parliament.

"The Pendletons would side with Burrows for sure," Jessamine said, without so much as a good morning. Her voice croaked hoarsely. "They've never liked me. Neither did their father, though he certainly hid his distaste better..."

She spoke half-muffled by the heel of her hand, with which she'd propped up her chin. Her unblemished cheek had reddened from the press of her knuckles. She tapped the pencil against the table she'd drawn, right where the twins sat, then subsided back into brooding silence.

A soot-stained old kettle sat on the stove. Corvo took a wary peek inside, but found it impeccably clean, if slightly dented. 

Curnow had told him to feel at home, so Corvo ignored his discomfort and went through the cupboards until he found an assortment of cups and a fragrant drawer with little satchels of loose tea.

He ran the tap cautiously. To his surprise, clear, mineral-scented water came out, splashing into the dented sink. When he'd been young, running water had been available in only a few Karnacan households, and even there it'd come out brown for a while before it turned clear. 

He tried a single mouthful and found it cool and fresh, just slightly more metallic than the water in Dunwall.

The kettle grew heavy as he filled it, the metal creaking slightly from the cold water. Corvo sniffed various teas, then picked something that smelled like green tea and dried oranges. He stuffed a generous amount into one of the little tight-woven bags that waited by the sink, then went to his knees by the oven and set about rekindling last night's fire.

It was odd how one never forgot how to do certain things. At the Tower, he never had to make fires, not even in the hearth of his own bedroom. Chambermaids did those sorts of things for him.

His hands still remembered, though. They knew to pick the driest branches and logs from the pile by the oven. They recalled how to use kindling, and before long, a fire was crackling languidly and the kettle was warming up on the stovetop.

Jessamine paid him no mind. She scribbled more notes onto her paper, muttering under her breath. Corvo caught a few names of other members of her Parliament; she went on a mumbled diatribe about the Pendleton twins, then hesitated and said, "The Boyle sisters, though..." and trailed off.

Corvo watched the kettle, waiting until the spout just began to emit steam. Serkonan green tea was fragile; it grew bitter when boiling water was poured over it. He filled the cup he'd set out.

There was no clock in the kitchen, so Corvo tried to listen for the ticking from the drawing room as the tea darkened. Jessamine scratched out something she'd written, with firm, frustrated strokes. When the tea had turned a soothing golden green, he discarded the soaked and steaming leaves.

He put the cup at Jessamine's elbow, right where her numerous butlers deposited cups of coffee and tea when she was working in her office, bent over piles of papers. He'd chosen the least chipped one, hoping that its simple, unadorned make wouldn't offend her sensibilities.

For a moment Jessamine kept scribbling, then absent-mindedly reached out. Her fingers bumped into hot porcelain.

She paused, at last surfacing from her trance. She stared at the teacup, then at Corvo, as though utterly mystified how either of them had gotten here without her noticing. The distant fog in her eyes cleared away.

"Thank you," Jessamine said. She leaned back and took a sip, releasing a deep, exhausted sigh into the cup.

Corvo sat down in the other chair. He rested his hands in his lap, content, for the moment, to watch Jessamine drink. After her initial small mouthful, she seemed to realize how thirsty she was; she drank faster, greedily sucking down the tea as fast as the steam allowed.

Silence filled the kitchen. The sun was working hard to cross the horizon, dousing the city in red-golden light. The clock in the drawing room ticked. Corvo heard no sound from Emily, not even a rustle of her blanket as she turned over; she had to be deeply asleep.

A small frown formed between Jessamine's eyebrows. She swished the remains of her tea around in the cup, watching the liquid swirl. The corners of her mouth turned down.

That was his cue. Corvo sat up straighter. He wasn't one of her advisors; his mind had not been sharpened by decades of studying history and politics. He wasn't sure what counsel he could give her, if any, but at the very least he could listen.

Jessamine's eyes were dark and troubled, the shadows underneath deep and reddened. Looking back at Corvo seemed to undo something in her; her gaze began to tremble and she glanced away, taking a deep shaky breath. 

"I can't believe it," she said in a small voice. "Hiram... I knew he disagreed with me about almost everything lately, but I never would have guessed he'd go this far." 

A bitter smile twisted her lips. She tapped her pencil against the paper. "I suppose that makes me _naive,"_ she added, spitting out the word like something noxious.

Corvo shook his head. _'It only means,'_ he signed, _'that you expected your Spymaster to do what he was supposed to, which was to show you unwavering loyalty. Not plot behind your back.'_

Jessamine grimaced. "Yes, and I was completely unprepared for him to turn on me. I wonder how many of them saw it coming," she gestured at her drawing of Parliament. "Even if we get back to Dunwall, and I expose him, it won't be over. I'll never know whom to trust anymore..."

_If?_ Corvo frowned. Jessamine kept speaking, though, a hurried rush, bitter words spilling forth now that the seal had broken.

"And I will grow paranoid, like my father was." She shook her head, with a small, grim twist to her mouth. "I'll appoint and then fire several Spymasters in a row, always suspicious, always looking over my shoulder... I will alienate my court, offend my allies, and finally leave Emily with a right mess to--"

Her voice cracked. She ran both hands through her disheveled hair, tangled her fingers behind her head, and squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath.

Corvo gave her a moment, then touched his knuckles to the table. It wasn't quite a proper knock, but Jessamine looked back at him at once, though her chin trembled and tears had welled in her eyes.

He drew a line across his forehead in the sign for 'black,' like her hair, then twirled his upheld littlest finger, the letter 'J'. _'Jessamine,'_ he began, and her eyes widened a little, because he used her name sign so rarely. _'You cannot think like that. For every traitor in your Parliament, there will be at least two lords and ladies who will be outraged at Burrows' betrayal. They will gladly rally to your side,'_ and he brought his pointed index fingers together insistently, twirling the right as it drifted to join the left, _'when we return.'_

Jessamine opened, then closed her mouth. She seemed struck speechless. _'You are a good and just Empress,_ Corvo told her, _and most of your court knows this very well. They would not have chosen to trade you for Burrows.'_

A short pause stretched between them. The clock ticked on, muffled by the wall. Birds sang outside, their high voices greeting the morning.

Jessamine sucked in a shaky breath. Her eyes shone wetly. She didn't quite smile, but her lips twitched a little. "You have such faith in me," she said hoarsely,. "It keeps me up at night sometimes. The fear of disappointing you."

Corvo shook his head. That was just about the silliest-- well, no, not that; Jessamine's worries were anything but _silly_ to him-- but at least the most improbable thing he'd ever heard. 

He didn't quite understand why his opinion should matter any more than that of the courtiers and politicians that surrounded her every day... But if falling short of his expectations, or revealing herself as unworthy in his eyes, was a genuine worry of hers, then Corvo would take it seriously, no matter whether or not he thought it was warranted.

A clear description of her fear required an equally clear answer. Corvo signed, _'You could not disappoint me if you tried.'_

Jessamine gave him a wavering smile. She sagged a little in her chair. Her shoulders were looser, her posture tilting limply. The manic energy that'd filled her writing had mostly dissipated, leaving her fatigued.

"Well, Lord Protector," she said. "What course of action do you suggest?"

Corvo suppressed a sudden twinge of nerves. What sort of advice might he, a mere soldier with an artificial title grafted on to him, give the Empress of the Isles?

\--But Jessamine was not just an Empress. She was also a woman who'd had her world turned upside down, her trust betrayed and her life almost snuffed out. She'd watched her daughter get abducted and traveled unwittingly to another dimension, and she'd slept on a lumpy couch and probably worried through the night, waking in short intervals the way she often did when something weighed on her mind.

_'First of all,'_ Corvo held up a finger, _'you should go back to sleep, at least for an hour or two. I can see how little you slept last night,'_ he added when Jessamine opened her mouth to protest.

She sighed, deflating. "You're probably right..."

_'Secondly,'_ Corvo continued, and braced himself for venturing close to the realm of politics, _'I believe that weeding out any traitors in the military will be most important, as well as assigning more patrols around the Tower.'_

Jessamine pursed her lips, frowning. "I do not want to turn my home into a fortress," she countered. "I don't want to close myself off and encase Emily in a gilded cage..."

_'Additional patrols can be temporary,'_ Corvo offered. _'My first concern in the days and weeks to come is your and Emily's safety, and that will be easiest to guarantee if we know none of your generals and admirals are waiting to stab you in the back.'_

Jessamine toyed with her pencil. She didn't look happy about it, but nodded.

_'Finally, I suggest you direct your attention to your Parliament,'_ Corvo finished, _'specifically to those whom you can be sure haven't betrayed you. A show of trust will let them know you value their support.'_

"Hmm," Jessamine said. Her eyes grew slightly distant. The fast, well-oiled gears of her mind whirred into motion, prodded out of her previous bewildered hurt. "You're right..."

She bent back over her paper. She drew a rough circle around one of the names; Corvo could only decipher a capital B, her scrawl illegible from upside down. 

"I cannot imagine the Brimsleys supporting Burrows," she said, more to the paper than to him. She wrote a few hasty notes. "Lord Brimsley never liked him, and neither did his wife, and we all know he defers to her in matters of politics... Lord Murdoch's son is rumored to consort with heretics, and Burrows is close friends with the High Overseer, so the Murdochs might not ally with him either..."

Corvo stood and took her cup, pouring a fresh cup of tea from the old leaves. If Attano and Curnow hadn't gone for the cheapest leaves in the market, the tea would be even more fragrant and flavorful when brewed a second time.

He waited for it to steep, then set it back beside her elbow. Jessamine hardly seemed to notice, though she reached automatically for the handle. She took a sip, never looking away from her paper. Arrows and lines now connected the members of her Parliament, and she jotted down quick additional notes under the names.

Corvo let her mutter to herself for a few minutes, until she'd drank the second serving of tea. Then he snatched the pencil away.

Jessamine flinched, starting to glare automatically, before she remembered that she was not in her office, and Corvo was no impertinent secretary. 

It took her a moment to surface from her thoughts. Then she sighed, smiling a little. "I said I would try to sleep, didn't I?"

Corvo nodded. He put her cup into the sink, then stood by her chair and looked pointedly between her and the door to the sitting room, where Emily still slept on their shared couch.

"Well, alright," Jessamine said. She gave her paper a last longing look, then folded it and tucked it into the pocket of her trousers. 

She made to get up, her chair scraping back, and Corvo automatically extended his hand to her, like he might have done while helping her up into a carriage. 

Jessamine blinked down at his proffered palm--the gesture was much too formal for these surroundings. But she placed her hand in his and rose, lacing their fingers together.

Curled up on the couch, Emily was still asleep. She'd taken her thumb out of her mouth though, and shoved her hand under the pillow instead. Her face was flushed with warmth, strands of hair sticking to her cheek.

Jessamine tucked the blankets tighter around her, then he sat on the edge of the couch and toed off her shoes. "And you?" she whispered, glancing up at Corvo. "Will you sleep too?"

Corvo shook his head. He was lucky he'd managed to rest until dawn; when sleep had finally come to him last night he'd expected to be waking up every hour, unable to find true rest. 

While he'd slept better than he'd expected to, he knew he wouldn't be able to rest more now. His nerves were too taut, vibrating faintly like plucked strings, just from seeing the city out of the windows and smelling the remains of Serkonan tea from the kitchen. 

"Are you sure?" Jessamine hid a yawn in her palm and looked up at him inquiringly. "You look like you could use some more rest as well."

Discomfort crawled up Corvo's back. Even tired and wrung out, Jessamine could read him like a book. He shook his head again.

Emily stirred a little, mumbling something unintelligible. Jessamine carefully lay down beside her daughter, holding on to the back of the couch to avoid disturbing her. Emily rubbed her cheek against her blanket, but did not wake fully.

Corvo stepped back from the couch. Jessamine gave him a small, sleepy smile and whispered, "If you won't sleep, at least promise me you won't brood."

The sign for 'promise' seemed to reverberate in his hands for minutes after he signed it. He was back in the kitchen, with its cramped little table and the iron stove which still radiated warmth from the fire he'd made. 

Corvo rubbed his fingers together. Perhaps this was his equivalent of hearing your own voice echo through your head. His palm had left an impression on the circle of his index finger and thumb, like a thin film of oil. 

He really should find a book, or a deck of cards... something to distract himself with so he would keep his promise. Cascades of thoughts waited like banked rivers, the dams cracking and spurting trickles of water as he struggled to hold back the-- well, the brooding. 

He paced back and forth across the kitchen instead, from the door to the window and the table. He watched the sun rise over the rooftops, and listened as the city started to wake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: NaNoWriMo is no longer kicking my ass, so welcome back! I hope some of you are still here, haha. Rest assured that this fic _will_ get finished, and I'm extremely grateful for each and every one of your kind words. <3
> 
> That said, I promise Corvo's day will get better. Eventually.

"And here's the Beggars' Lament," Attano said cheerfully. "A boy I knew had his ear nailed to it for stealing." 

The wooden pole stood in the middle of a small plaza. It was a lot less intimidating than Corvo remembered it... or perhaps it was just that he had grown a lot taller in the meantime. As a child, it'd loomed eerily out of the morning fog when he and Beatrici hurried past it. Every time, Corvo had stared at his feet, out of some superstition that if he looked at the pole head-on, he would be the next miscreant nailed up against it.

Now, it was just a thick plank of wood, bleached and splintered with age. Bent nails poked out of it, and the grain bore a variety of faded stains. Scraggly bushes lined the small plaza, and bristly yellowed grass grew between the cracks in the pavement.

"His _ear?"_ Emily repeated, wrinkling her nose. She stared up at the pole not with the trepidation Corvo had felt at her age, but with disgust. "But that's horrible! What did he steal that was so expensive?!"

Attano shrugged. "Food, probably. In those days, us street urchins were always going after food."

A stiff breeze swept through the streets, cooling the sweat on Corvo's back. He cast a baleful glare up at the sky: it did not look like a dust storm was forming. All morning, he'd hoped for the weather to force them back inside so he wouldn't have to endure this wretched parade.

The sky was mostly clear, though, a pale and washed-out blue. It was not quite noon, and the streets were still busy. The thin throngs of people were nothing compared to the crowds that gathered in Draper's Ward on market days. But they still passed by more people than Corvo had expected to see.

"--that's Black Brick Alley there," Attano was saying, pointing at a winding cobbled street, "and it'll lead us right to where I--we--grew up. The house is still standing," he said to Corvo, "though it looks a lot worse than it was."

He grinned suddenly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he invited Corvo to share the private joke. "Hard to imagine, I know," he said.

Corvo sighed. He did not know _what_ had possessed him to agree to this excursion--though the curious gleam in Emily's eyes came to mind--and he wished for the hundredth time that he had not.

Attano had insisted on giving them a grand tour while Geoff healed and magic gathered in him. It would be another fifteen hours at least, he'd argued, and they might as well spend the time taking a more in-depth look at this realm. 

"You think this is a good time for sight-seeing?" Jessamine had asked him, doubtful but with some hardness in her voice. The bruise on her cheek had not yet begun to fade. "My Empire is falling to bits--"

"It is not falling to bits," Attano said, a little impatiently. 

"Burrows is telling Void knows what to my Parliament!" Jessamine snapped. Her arms were folded across her chest, and Corvo still found it very strange to see her wear Curnow's oversized shirt.

"And there's fuck all you can do about it until tonight!" Attano paused. "--Your majesty."

Jessamine pressed her lips into a thin line, glowering. It was likely only Corvo's face that saved Attano from a stern etiquette lesson. Or Jessamine still felt rattled enough by their current predicament that she was willing to let his utter lack of courtesy slide. 

Attano smiled winningly. "Come now, you cannot tell me you've never wondered where your Royal Protector grew up." His voice turned softer, cajoling. "We can't do anything but wait anyway. Whether we do that holed up in our apartment or getting some fresh air doesn't really matter, now does it?"

Emily, who'd flitted back and forth between the windows like a trapped bird, spoke up unexpectedly. Corvo hadn't thought she'd been listening. She had seemed fully focused on pressing her nose to the cool glass and staring down at the street below. 

"I want to go out!" she said, and almost tripped over the table as she hurried over to her mother's side. "I keep hearing music!"

Attano grinned at her. "There's musicians at every street corner here," he said, delighted to have found an unexpected ally. "They'll play anything for a coin. You'll see."

"Can we go, _please?"_ Emily asked, widening her eyes imploringly as she looked up at Jessamine.

It was reluctant curiosity that had propelled Jessamine out the door behind Attano. Genuine interest had begun to glint in her eyes as she'd taken her first look at a Karnacan street. For a while she'd looked around just like Emily, though she kept a tight grip on her daughter's hand. 

By now, though, the novelty had worn off for her. Jessamine no longer stared at the houses and dusty streets. Instead, she was shooting Corvo questioning looks that he did not quite know what to do with.

He wished Emily wouldn't stare so intently at everything. He couldn't blame her for her curiosity, and would never admonish her for it. But for some reason, the sight of her craning her neck in an effort to look at everything set his teeth on edge.

(It wasn't that he feared she would think less of him if she saw where he'd grown up. Emily wasn't shallow, and she knew of his humble origins. But somehow, his hands still itched with the near-overwhelming urge to usher her away, back to the apartment. 

No bandits or assassins descended on them from the tiled rooftops, but the cold twist in Corvo's gut refused to dissipate. His instincts screamed at him to shield Emily, protect her, though he wasn't sure from what.)

Attano had told him it wouldn't be necessary for either of them to cover their faces. He assured Corvo that no one would notice their resemblance-- "My face isn't as famous here as yours is in Dunwall," he'd said, smirking. 

Even after a day spent in the man's company, Corvo still resented that snide look. It was like missing a step on a flight of stairs, hitting him with a sharp jolt of annoyed anxiety.

At any rate, he regretted that he hadn't insisted on wearing something to cover his face. A scarf would have helped him hide the scowl that he felt was permanently etched into the corners of his mouth.

"His ear," Emily repeated, thoughtful, as they made their way across the plaza. She didn't seem to care that a few long, sun-hardened blades of grass snagged at her stockings. "How did he get free, then?"

The mouth of Black Brick Alley enveloped them in welcoming shade. By Corvo's side, Jessamine let out a relieved sigh. 

The narrow street hadn't changed much. It still smelled faintly of rotting garbage. Dust and sand clung to every corner, and a dog barked somewhere, punctuating the heated but unintelligible flow of an argument that drifted out of an open window.

Some of the buildings seemed abandoned. Lopsided shutters covered many of the windows, and some particularly hardy moss grew in the cracks on the windowsills.

"He tore himself free," Attano explained. "It's part of the punishment. Nobody takes out those nails. The poor sods stand there to be jeered at, bleeding until hunger and thirst take over, and then--" 

He jerked his head to the side, smiling at Emily, whose eyes widened.

Jessamine cleared her throat. She wiped the back of her hand over her forehead and stopped walking. The little hairs on the back of her neck were slick with sweat, her braid in damp disarray. 

Her gaze was clear and direct, though, unimpeded by the heat. She jutted out her chin in the same way Corvo had seen her do when her advisors disagreed with her. 

"A moment, gentlemen," she said curtly. She gripped Emily's hand in hers and tucked her other hand into the crook of Corvo's elbow, pulling them both around a corner.

It wasn't really a street; more of a backyard. Tall trees loomed overhead, leaning close to the sun-bleached, crumbling masonry of the adjacent building. The pavement was covered in dried brown leaves. From a corner wafted the unmistakable smell of rotting vegetables.

"Are we playing hide and seek?" Emily asked, glancing between them with clear, curious eyes. She seemed mercifully undisturbed by Attano's grisly tale.

Jessamine shook her head and put her finger to her lips to shush her. To Corvo she said, quietly. "Corvo, is this-- are you alright with this?"

A pause. Wind rustled in the trees and swept through the street, propelling clouds of billowing dust.

Corvo blinked at her, then nodded cautiously. He _did_ think it was good for Emily to take a walk and see some of Karnaca, if only to distract her from the tragedy that had nearly befallen her family... it was certainly better than keeping her confined to the apartment...

A small frown creased Jessamine's brow. "Do you want me--us--to see all this?" she asked, gesturing at the street. "Your home?"

_'Dunwall is my home,'_ Corvo corrected her, still puzzled.

Jessamine let out a frustrated sigh. "What I mean is... this is-- _private."_

She looked up at him intently. Her gaze seemed to pierce his skull and examine the whorls of his mind, hunting down the true thoughts that he might have softened for her benefit. 

"It is a part of you I know only through what little you've told me. --And that's fine!" she added, when Corvo raised his right fist to his chest, preparing to apologize. "That's your prerogative. I always imagined that growing up here must have been..." 

She glanced down at Emily, then finished, "--hard, before you won the Blade Verbena, and I assumed that was why you didn't want to speak of it."

Corvo sucked in a breath and looked away, staring at the house on the corner. The windows were shuttered and dusty. One shutter dangled only from a couple of rusty screws, creaking gently in the wind. The paint had burst and peeled off in the relentless heat.

The truth was-- he hated this. He _hated_ being here. He hated that Emily was hearing this, though he wouldn't have wanted to leave her alone with Attano either. Worst of all, though, he almost resented the way Jessamine looked at him, cautious and worried...

Emily shuffled close to him and took his hand between both of her small ones. Her fingers were warm and a little sticky.

Corvo's throat tightened painfully. He found himself recalling the moment he'd seen her again, back at the assassins' hideout... her eyes, red from weeping but narrowed suspiciously at Attano's presence; how she'd thrown herself at him, clutching at his shoulders, his coat, any part of him she could reach...

A short silence fell. Jessamine bit her lip, her eyes still searching. Thoughts visibly raced past in her head as she tried and discarded several placating things to say.

"We could make a game of it!" Emily suggested suddenly, jostling Corvo's hand. "I'll close my eyes, and you'll lead me around and tell me when there's stairs..." She held out her wrist to Corvo. "One tap for stairs that go up, and two for down?"

Jessamine blinked down at her in confusion. Emily rolled her eyes, exasperated with her mother's lack of understanding. "Because you said Corvo might not want me to see the city," she explained.

Corvo snorted. His heart lightened a bit. That was Emily: smart and imaginative and effortlessly kind, yanking him out of his dark thoughts without even trying.

The next breath he took finally went in deep. He hadn't noticed how tight his chest had gotten. His lungs filled with warm, dry Karnacan air, the ever-present dust tickling his nose.

None of this was their fault. Jessamine and Emily hadn't dragged him out Attano's door, and they weren't the ones who'd transported him to this blasted realm in the first place. He would _not_ take his frustration out on them. 

He had to find a way to push down the whole painful tangle. He'd compartmentalize it, cram it into a tiny corner, where it could roil and seethe all it wanted. The most important thing was getting through the day unscathed, and returning to Dunwall tonight, and stopping Hiram Burrows from whatever he was doing to Jessamine's Empire in her absence.

He squeezed Emily's hands, then wormed his fingers gently out of her clutch. _'It's alright,'_ he signed. _'I'll admit it is,'_ he hesitated for a long moment, but then forced himself to wipe one palm over the other and nudged at his chin with his upheld thumb, _'not pleasant. But I do not mind your presence, or Emily's.'_

Jessamine frowned at him. If she was bothered by the smell of moldy vegetables, which the breeze now ushered over to them, she didn't show it. "Are you certain?"

Corvo bit the inside of his cheek, squashing a small surge of irritation. He appreciated her concern for him, he _did,_ but this was not the moment to ask him to be truthful about his feelings. Not while Emily was listening.

He nodded. Perhaps Jessamine saw some of his resolve in his eyes: she took a small step back, inclining her head respectfully, like he was a lord of her court who'd just made a controversial statement in Parliament.

"Very well," she said. She glanced towards Attano, who'd turned his back to them in a surprising show of tact, and seemed to be admiring the architecture on the other side of the street. 

She bit her lip, then touched her fingertips briefly to Corvo's arm. He felt the brush of her hand even through his coat. "If-- if there is anything I... but you know that."

Corvo tapped his fingers against his temple. _'I do.'_

Jessamine hesitated, but then made herself nod. "Good," she said, and turned back to the alley.

Emily looked up at him, readier than her mother to take him by his word. She slipped her small hand back into his palm, but this time it was to tug him onward. Dried grass crackled under her shoes.

Corvo closed his fingers around hers. When he smiled back at her, he hoped it did not look like a grimace.

***

His childhood home looked terrible.

He wasn't sure if his memory served him, or gilded it in nostalgia. As a child, he hadn't found anything wrong with the tall, narrow house; it'd been home, nothing more and nothing less. But looking at it now, with its peeling paint and crumbling mortar, he could hardly believe that he and his sister had grown up here.

The windowsills were as rusty as he remembered them, though how they accumulated enough moisture to turn flaky brown was still a mystery. The front door stood half-open, letting some light into the cobwebbed stairwell. The tiled floor inside was cracked and dusty.

Attano hadn't lost any of his good cheer. Perhaps, Corvo reasoned, he wasn't as struck by the sight because he still lived in Karnaca; he had to have walked past the house a number of times as an adult. Exposure must have hardened him to its presence.

"That was our apartment," he said, pointing to the small window on the third floor, next to the chimney. "High up, as you can see. When the wind blew from the east, we got facefuls of smoke the moment we opened the window."

"So many stairs!" Emily said, her gaze trailing upwards.

"Indeed." Attano propped his hands up on his hips, smiling fondly down at Emily. "Mother was too ill to climb them, most of the time. Once, she spent a whole six months not leaving the apartment. Beatrici feared she would fuse to the bed."

Emily gave him a troubled look. Corvo swallowed hard and kept his hands still, trying to tamp down on the acidic anger that burned in his stomach. It was illogical to get angry at Attano for being candid; he was only telling the truth, after all. 

But did he have to say it like _that,_ in a way that put a small frown on Emily's face, and made Jessamine's lips tighten with pity?

He could almost hear the quick pitter-patter of Beatrici's footsteps, tripping down the front steps. She'd been prone to forgetting the ragged scarves they used to hide their faces when they went pickpocketing... when he'd been very young, Corvo had always insisted on running back up with her to fetch them, wary of standing in the street alone.

The scent of whiskey had drifted out from under their neighbors' doors. In the apartment below theirs, the shouted arguments lasted well into the night... his mother's hollow, phlegmy coughs echoed through the stairwell...

Corvo nudged Emily to get her attention. _'My sister and I went up and down all those stairs every day,'_ he told her. _'We were some of the fastest runners in the whole quarter.'_

He didn't mention that they'd had to run very fast very frequently to get away from the soldiers and irate shopkeepers who snapped constantly at their heels for stealing. That was a detail best left out.

Emily grinned, relieved. "Of course!" she said, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. A childish challenge gleamed in her dark eyes. "Maybe if I run up and down the Tower all day, I'll soon be faster than you!"

Corvo smiled through his little sting of regret. He shouldn't rely on a ten-year-old to lift his spirits so, but her simple delight was soothing. For just a moment, it wasn't quite as hard to feel the narrow house looming over him, its dusty windows like watchful specters.

Attano took a breath to speak. The little noise instantly demolished Corvo's small island of calm. He glared fiercely at his other self, and Attano subsided at once, with a wide-eyed, wounded look.

Corvo stared impassively back. If he had to scowl at him all day to keep Attano from recounting his--their--past altercations with heavily armed guards within earshot of Emily, he would. 

(If his fist ached to bury itself in some meaty, vulnerable part of him, well-- that was... _unusual._ Corvo was not a man prone to violent outbursts... but perhaps, given the circumstances, his short temper was somewhat understandable. Even just looking at Attano was like running sandpaper over his skin, grating and dizzyingly _wrong.)_

Something stern and unforgiving must have shown on his face. Attano winced and looked away, closing his mouth.

***

_Lottie's Sweet & Savory Baked Goods_ was still there, right on the corner of Olaskir Avenue and Bridge Street. The enticing scent of baked butter and flour drifted out of the half-open window. A little bell still hung above the door, chiming when Attano pushed the door open.

Seagulls cawed and cried overhead, their calls echoing off the high buildings. They circled cheekily low, ready to snatch anything edible out of the hands of unobservant citizens. The sky was clear and blue, dotted with a few fluffy clouds. There was still no dust storm in sight.

It was early afternoon; the day's heat had risen slowly, though it had not yet reached its peak. Attano, squinting against the sunlight to assess his guests, had decided to get pastries for all of them, though Jessamine protested instantly.

"You don't have to do that," she'd insisted, wiping her sweaty hair out of her face. "I can--"

She'd trailed off as she realized she did not have any money. They'd fled from the Tower in such a hurry that there'd been no time to grab any of her purses.

Attano tapped into his limited supply of politeness: he hadn't pointed out Jessamine's empty pockets. "It's not every day I get to treat an Empress to lunch," he'd said instead, and wouldn't hear any more protests.

They'd made their way out of the Batista Mining District an hour ago. The shabby buildings had given way to more well-kept houses, large enough to shield them from the wind. Corvo could breathe easier here, with a solid mile between him and the house where he'd grown up.

A patrol of guards had passed them on the way, wearing short-sleeved uniforms in washed-out blue. Their tanned faces were sweaty and grim. Corvo had to fight down an old stir of mingled fear and resentment. 

Emily had gone quiet and wide-eyed. She'd pressed herself against Corvo's leg, staring at the passing soldiers, and something about them had tipped her mood over into anxiety. Perhaps it was the sight of their swords that unsettled her.

It might have been exciting to explore this foreign city, but she was still a child that'd survived a terrible, traumatic ordeal just a day ago. Jessamine took her hand on one side, and Corvo held the other, and Emily shrunk a little between them, making herself small.

It was a relief to have some of Jessamine's focus diverted from him; she now kept a close eye on Emily instead. Corvo watched her too, ready for her to turn towards him and tug on his hand, asking wordlessly to be picked up. He didn't care how many muscles he might pull--if Emily felt safer a little ways above the ground, he would carry her all the way back to the apartment.

The sight of the bakery lifted her spirits again, though. For a minute she just rose onto her tiptoes, staring; then she let go of Corvo's hand and dragged Jessamine towards the window. 

Corvo took a few steps away, until a thick, gnarled tree trunk was at his back and he could overlook the whole street. None of the people who walked past paid them any mind. He glared at an elderly lady who hauled a big basket filled with loaves of bread, but didn't spot any hidden knives.

"Look!" Emily said to Jessamine, her nose pressed to the glass. "There's so much bread! And I've never seen those orange fruits..."

"I have," Jessamine answered. She'd sunk down to her knees to be at Emily's eye level. The two of them looked well together, two dark heads of hair bent close as they peered inside. "They're peaches. A little hard to come by in Gristol, but I imagine they are not as expensive here..."

The scents of spice and burned sugar wafted out of the bakery. Corvo's mouth watered. Lottie's had been far too expensive for the likes of Beatrici and him... but a few times, the elderly proprietor--Lottie's daughter--had given them some of the previous day's leftover rolls.

Even their mother had smiled when they'd returned with their bounty. Beatrici had unearthed watery jam from somewhere, and they'd had a small feast, sitting cross-legged on their mother's bed...

Just past the door hung a beaded curtain that kept out flies and wasps. It still swung gently where Attano had jostled it. He was leaning against the counter, running a hand through his hair and flirting with the blushing clerk... 

Corvo thought of Curnow, who'd stayed behind to watch over Geoff. Attano was fortunate he couldn't speak; if he'd still been in possession of his tongue, he might have marched into the bakery to demand what in the Void Attano thought he was doing, and whether he would soon have to defend his friend's counterpart's honor. 

"Success!" Attano announced when he came back out, holding up a paper bag. Beaded strings slid off his shoulder. "Lottie's apple pastries, fresh out of the--"

A seagull swooped past dangerously low, cawing a challenge. Attano instantly gathered the bag closer, glaring up at the bird.

Corvo had to admit, however grudgingly, that Attano hadn't scrimped on their lunch. He'd gotten a big, apple-filled pastry for each of them, still steaming and bulging with fragrant filling. Emily took hers with a hum of delight, turning it over in her small hands and breathing in deep to take in the foreign spices.

Jessamine thanked him rather gravely; Corvo could tell she was more grateful for her daughter's cheered mood than the food itself. To his surprise, Attano cleared his throat and waved a hand, embarrassed by her sincerity, and began talking about the weather.

They made their slow way through the city. Attano led them vaguely westward, down a broad, sloping road. A number of carriages rattled past, drawn by long-limbed horses with wide, nervous eyes.

Powdered sugar stained Corvo's fingertips. He bit into the pastry with some trepidation, but found that it was so buttery and soft that it outright melted in his mouth, requiring little chewing and no aid of his fingers. 

The apple filling was perfectly steamed and juicy, warm and just soft enough. Cinnamon and hints of ginger mingled with the sugary taste in his mouth. He caught the concerned glance Jessamine aimed at him, and gave her a small smile back to let her know the food gave him no trouble.

Trees leaned over the next alley, their crowns thick and well tended. A few leaves were just beginning to edge into the orange-brown of autumn.

"This is where Tommaso Rossi used to live," Attano spoke up, chewing. He pointed towards a wide sandstone building that Corvo remembered as being sparsely inhabited; now, there were flowers and herbs on every windowsill. "He was around my age. He competed in the Blade Verbena too, but didn't make it past the first round."

Emily's head whipped around, like it often did when someone spoke of the Blade Verbena. She had smudges of powdered sugar on her cheek.

"Did he lose?" she asked.

"Yeah," Attano said happily, swallowing his mouthful as they rounded a corner. "Got disemboweled by this huge mountain of a man from the slums of Cullero--"

Corvo stepped on his heel, hard enough that Attano stumbled. "But he-- he was fine after," he added hurriedly. "He, uh, moved away."

Emily shrugged. She didn't quite seem to realize what 'disemboweled' meant. Her eyes wandered along this new street, squinting against the sunlight. 

Attano pointed out some old stores, a marketplace dotted with trees, a former almshouse that was now a small apothecary... the tavern where Duke Theodanis' parents were rumored to have gone sometimes, plainly dressed and sneaking out of the Grand Palace...

Halfway to the Cyria Gardens, Corvo realized where Attano was leading them. He lost his appetite so abruptly that his stomach turned, and offered the remainder of his pastry to Emily. 

He took a rumpled handkerchief from his pocket and slowly wiped the sugar off his hands. Jessamine's questioning look outright drilled into his temple. Corvo stared straight ahead, trying not to feel the prickle of her eyes on him.

The buildings grew taller, more ornate. The ever-present dust was swept into corners, the pavement even and well-tended. A statue of Duke Theodanis' grandfather oversaw the middle of an intersection. A bed of fire lilies surrounded him, bright orange and red in the mid-afternoon light.

"Did you ever meet him?" Emily asked Corvo, pointing up at the stately monument. The stonemason had done good work; he could see a resemblance to the Duke in the unmoving countenance, the heavy brow and hooked nose.

He shook his head. The pastry sat uneasily in his stomach, the dough gone hard and sour.

The air was hot and muggy. Attano's scar reddened in the sun, while the flesh immediately around it stayed pale; the healing wound had disturbed the layers of skin. Corvo's heart pounded hard in his belly and palms. 

A few streets over, the Grand Guard outpost looked almost the same. A gilded sign above the wide front door; red brickwork, with the mortar crumbling just a little; a small plaque by the stone steps that led up to the door, which dated the house to have been built in 1742.

Even the large wooden board was the same. A number of wanted posters were pinned to it, mostly the scowling leaders of various gangs. 

"Roseburrow Lane," Attano said, gesturing down the alley that curved behind the red-brick house. He turned to Corvo, his dark eyes curious. "Was it the same for you?"

Corvo nodded. He looked up at the buildings that framed the narrow street; they almost leaned towards each other, like lovers separated by a few feet of air. Some of the windows were open. Laundry lines crossed the street. Colorful, sun-bleached fabric swayed gently in the wind. 

"--completely lost my sense of direction," Jessamine was saying. She stood in front of the outpost, peering down the alley. She'd rolled up the sleeves of her borrowed shirt, and the fabric stuck to her back with sweat. Her chemise had to be soaked. "Does this lead to the docks?"

Attano shook his head. "It's a dead end," he said, with a small smile. "Nowhere to run, and all that."

Jessamine's eyebrows rose, her questioning gaze drifting to Corvo. He tried to look at her, but couldn't seem to yank his eyes off the houses, which teemed with life... tinny music drifted out of some open windows, laughing chatter out of others. Somewhere, a wife appeared to be scolding her husband, her harsh tones drifting down into the street.

The windows... Corvo recalled with perfect clarity the sound of them slamming shut as he'd screamed and fought when the soldier sawed his dagger through his tongue. Afterwards, no one had looked when he'd stumbled back towards the street, sobbing in pain and terror. Hot, sticky blood filled his mouth and ran down the back of his throat, no matter how often he spat it out down his front...

Nausea clenched hard in his gut. Sweat beaded on his forehead and slicked his back. He still wore his coat, but for a moment, chilled goosebumps rose on his arms, pressing against the sleeves of his shirt.

Jessamine wiped the back of her neck, grimacing, then took a few steps into the mouth of the alley. "The houses are so close," she said, wondering, tilting her head back to look up at the sliver of sky. "Those neighbors can probably look into each other's dining rooms..."

"You will find, your majesty," Attano said, "that Karnacans crammed into close quarters are excellent at ignoring each other."

A bitter twist lingered briefly around his mouth. Then he shrugged, belatedly lowering his hand--it looked like he'd been about to touch his scarred cheek. "It's amazing, really, how selectively deaf people can be. Apparently, no one heard the scuffle..."

He looked at Corvo. A few seconds ticked past in awkward silence. 

Corvo knew he should have signed something back; at least he should answer the unspoken question of whether it'd been the same for him. Just a nod or a shake of his head would suffice... but he couldn't move.

Emily glanced back and forth between them. A small, confused wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "Did another one of your friends live here?" she asked.

Attano opened his mouth, then finally noticed Corvo's expression and faltered, hesitating. Jessamine's gaze went from the Grand Guard outpost to the alley. She sucked in a sharp breath, comprehension dawning visibly. 

\--And Corvo was abruptly done with standing here, watching Jessamine watch him, her blue eyes keen and all-seeing. He'd had enough of Attano's nonchalance, enough of the alley itself, of the smell of hot stone that rose off the pavement and the painful clench in his belly.

He held out a hand to Emily, gratified when she instantly ran to him. She slipped her fingers into his palm and fell into step with him easily.

Corvo's neck prickled from the combined weight of Attano and Jessamine's eyes on him. He didn't care. He had to get his daughter away from here, where the more affluent citizens had ignored his howls of pain as hot coppery blood filled his mouth, and no one had out to check on him when he'd stumbled away afterwards, pain-blind and gagging.

Emily didn't question him. She had to jog slightly to keep up with his long strides, but she didn't complain. Her small hand was reassuringly warm in his.

***

Two streets further south, the tree was still standing. It was older, more gnarled, and the bark was bleached paler by the sun. But it still stood tall, carrying a full crown of leaves. The pavement had gone more uneven as, over time, the tree roots pushed up harder against the flagstones.

The trunk bore dozens of carvings. Hearts and letters, crude epithets, a whole litany of swear words... the marks of various gangs that'd come and gone were immortalized here, boxy skulls and whales and the odd occult mark.

On the left, at a height of about three feet, someone had etched 'Beatrici Attano is a wench' into the bark. 

Corvo had been young and reckless then, and his twelve-year-old temper had ignited instantly on her behalf. Beatrici had shrugged and laughed, unaffected, but Corvo had sneaked out of the house that night, and taken his small knife to the writing in unmitigated fury. 

At the time, he hadn't realized how dangerous it'd been to venture out of Batista alone, with hardly more than a crescent moon to light his path. He was lucky his sister hadn't heard him come back; if she had, she would've given him the dressing down of the century.

It'd been slow work. The tree hadn't seemed to want to give up its words to Corvo's blunt knife. He'd nicked his fingers multiple times and sweated through his shirt, but by the time he was done, the words had been illegible.

The furious scratches and cuts were still there, softened slightly by time. Some hardy Serkonan moss had grown in the deepest grooves, stretching its little fibers across the bark.

Emily looked up at him. She'd followed him without question or complaint, but now her mouth was turned down at the corners with concern. 

Corvo released her hand; his palm was sweaty, and he hoped with a flash of guilt that he hadn't held her fingers too tightly. He sucked in a deep breath and grasped blindly for his composure, clutching at it like a coat in the wind.

_'When I was ten, like you are now, I used to climb this tree,'_ he told his daughter. He chose simple signs to sort through his painful, whirling thoughts and pick out those that were fit for Emily's eyes. _'All the way to the top.'_

"Wow!" Emily breathed, tilting her head back and shaking her eyes with one hand. The leaves were so thick in places that they blocked out the sky. "Could you see very far?"

Corvo nodded. _"All_ across the city?" she pressed, insistent.

A lopsided smile found its way onto his face automatically. He half-shrugged, wiggling his hand in a so-so gesture.

"Oh," Emily said. "Well, it's grown in the meantime, right? So maybe if you climbed up now, you could see all the way to the sea."

Corvo knelt beside Emily. His knees touched the familiar warm pavement, and fine dust clung to his trousers. He brought his face close to hers, looking over her shoulder to follow her line of sight.

The marks that countless ragged shoes had left on the wall were still there. He pointed towards them, doing his best to align his finger with her gaze.

"Oh!" Emily gasped. From her startled intake of breath, Corvo knew she'd seen the skidmarks. She turned her head to stare at him, her hair tickling his cheek. "Did you go on the _roof?!"_

Corvo nodded and sat back, smiling at her baffled expression. Her gaze went up the tree trunk with a new appreciation, her keen eyes picking out the places where young feet might have found a foothold.

"That must've been great," Emily said longingly. "I've never been on _any_ rooftop, but maybe if--" 

She cut herself off with a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes went wide and startled, then she looked quickly down at the ground, sucking her lower lip into her mouth. Her chin trembled. She stared at the dusty tips of her shoes.

Worry pricked at Corvo. He glanced up at the canopy of leaves, then around at the windows, but saw nothing that could have spooked or upset her.

He offered her his open palms, then curled his right middle and ring fingers towards his palm, tapping his knuckles against his chin. _'What's wrong?'_

"Nothing," Emily muttered. She toed at the dirt, prying loose a flat little pebble, and kicked it towards the tree.

Corvo hesitated. He didn't want to press her too hard, not when she truly didn't wish to talk... But he had a feeling that right now, it would do no harm to gently coax her into speaking. 

Besides, though Emily stared at her shoes, she still sneaked glances at him. She wasn't turning away or breaking her line of sight to his hands.

_'It's alright.'_ Corvo managed a half-smile, hoping it looked reassuring. _'You can tell me.'_

With him kneeling, she didn't have to look up to meet his eyes. In the three months he'd been away, she'd had a growth spurt, and when she'd come running towards him at the waterlock, Corvo had been selfishly relieved that at least it hadn't been a large one. 

He had already missed three entire months of his daughter's life, time that he would never get back, and it was oddly gratifying that while she _was_ taller, she hadn't grown that much.

Emily gave him a single, despairing look. There was something desperately apologetic about her trembling frown, like she'd done something wrong. 

"I wasn't thinking of it!" she insisted, entreating, though her voice was small. "I didn't think of it all day, I swear, I was-- I was trying..."

Corvo shook his head, holding up a hand in what he hoped was a calming gesture. _'You've done nothing wrong,'_ he told her firmly. He might not know what it was that'd upset her, but it made his heart sting to see her so desperately contrite. _'We cannot control our thoughts all the time. I cannot either.'_

There was a short pause. Wind rustled through the leaves overhead. Emily had pressed her lips into a thin line, but her mouth still trembled. 

"You-- really?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Her eyes gleamed wetly. But there was something else there, something hopeful, like she wanted to believe him. Corvo nodded.

Emily looked down at her hands again, which fidgeted with the buttons and ruffles of her shirt. Dark grime had gotten stuck under her nails. She had a small scrape on the heel of her left hand. Corvo tried not to imagine her in that dank, dripping room in the Flooded District, scratching at the lock or picking at the rotted door...

He inched a little closer. The knee of his trousers scraped across the ground, but the expensive fabric was the least of his concerns.

Emily spoke softly, for his ears only, though they were entirely alone in the small courtyard. "It's just-- the, the people with the... with those masks," she waved vaguely towards her own face, "they were on the rooftop too. At the-- the gazebo." 

She took a deep, hitching breath, blinking quickly. "And maybe, if I could climb better, I could've stopped them. You gave me all those lessons, but I... I wasn't good enough."

Her small pause had given Corvo the second he needed to brace himself, so he didn't flinch. He absorbed her confession like a blow against his ribs in a sparring match, tensing to hold fast against it.

Emily's dark hair was tousled by the wind, and it'd lost some of its shine to Karnaca's ever-present dust. She chewed on her lip, which trembled along with her chin. Corvo ached to hold her, let her hide her face against his shoulder, but just now, she didn't look as though she wished to be embraced.

The thin veneer that covered Emily's trauma had cracked, just a little, and Corvo wished Jessamine were here. He didn't know what to tell Emily. Stopping the assassins had been his responsibility, not hers; his failure, not hers... but he doubted that would calm her. Surely Jessamine would have known what to say...

He cast about for words, trying to think of something comforting. Finally he asked, _'What would you have done, if you'd been on the roof with them?'_

Emily thought for a moment. She sniffled, her forehead creasing, but the threat of tears seemed to recede. Her fingers clenched hard on the buttons of her blouse, then her expression cleared. 

"I would've tripped them," she declared. "It's dangerous to trip when you're up that high."

Despite his heavy heart, Corvo found himself smiling a little. It was perhaps a childish thing to say, but she was _ten._ He didn't blame her for not having a clever plan worked out as to how she could have triumphed over a group of trained mercenaries.

And it reassured him that even after the violence she'd seen, and the ordeal she'd endured, Emily's first thought was of tripping those who'd sought to harm her and her mother, rather than shooting or stabbing. 

_'Very true,'_ he signed.

"Yes," Emily said gravely. She wiped her eyes, though she hadn't really cried.

Somehow, the brief talk helped dissolve her near-despair. The trembling crease between her eyebrows smoothed out, like storm clouds receding. Corvo released a relieved breath. The ache in his chest loosened. It was perhaps foolish to congratulate himself for asking the right question; it was Emily who'd done the hard work of pushing aside her dark thoughts.

She looked back up at the tree, watching the thinner, leaf-laden branches as they swayed gently in gusts of wind. Her fingers were no longer pulling on her buttons.

Corvo knew what she would ask before she opened her mouth. She turned imploring eyes on him and said, "Can I try? Please, Corvo?"

He hesitated, mostly for show. Emily let out a long, beleaguered sigh and said, "Not _all_ the way up. Just a little!"

He couldn't say no to her on a regular day; attempting to deny her anything now would have been foolhardy. So he nodded, and smiled back when she lit up, beaming, though her eyes were still a little red-rimmed.

Emily dragged him over to the tree by the arm. She told him earnestly that he was to watch her, several times, until he let out a small huff of laughter--as if he would just turn away when his daughter was climbing what he had thought, once upon a time, to be the largest tree in all of Karnaca.

Seeing her slowly clamber up the rough bark was surreal. Her clothing was stark white against the brown tree, even in the shade cast by the tall buildings. She was the only bright, living thing in a montage of Corvo's ghosts.

If he'd ever imagined Emily in Karnaca at all, it'd been with her much older, perhaps on some sort of diplomatic visit... Not like this, in the aftermath of a brutal attack that'd thrown her mother's Empire into disarray.

Emily seemed delighted with the tree's gnarled bark that made it easy for her to place her feet. "It's like a ladder!" she said, and pulled herself up higher with a grunt of effort, jabbing her left foot into a small depression in the trunk.

Unlike Corvo had been at her age, she wasn't a frantic, impatient climber. She took her time thinking about which protruding branch to grab next. Her progress was slower than Corvo's had been, but she didn't scrape her palms or tear her clothing on an exposed splinter like he'd done so often--much to Beatrici's dismay, who'd had to mend his clothes... she had scolded him, her dark eyes annoyed, then swore colorfully when she pricked herself with the needle...

Corvo pushed the thought away. This was not the moment for heavy-hearted nostalgia. This was his daughter, quite literally following in his footsteps, and the least he could do was afford her his full attention.

She got to the first thick, forked branch, where the trunk had naturally split in two. It was there that she stopped, her feet wedged into the gap, and turned around. "Is this where you were?" she called down to Corvo, her small arm looped securely around the thickest part of the trunk.

He nodded, helpless to stop his smile. He didn't think he'd ever stopped _exactly_ where she stood now; he'd always been reaching higher, for the next branch, the next foothold. He hadn't had anybody to admire his climbing skills, so he'd never paused. 

There was something-- satisfying, almost viscerally rewarding, about standing here now and watching the shine of pride in Emily's eyes.

Emily's gaze went higher, over his shoulder. "Hi, Mother!" she called, waving. Then she yelled, "Corvo, catch me!" and flung herself off the tree.

Corvo had seen it coming; just a second ago, her dark eyes had lit up as she judged the distance, far enough for a thrilling little fall, but not too far for her to miss Corvo's arms.

He caught her easily, stumbling slightly under her weight. Emily's elbow collided painfully with his shoulder, and her knee jabbed him in the side. Then she was safely in his arms, smelling of sweat and dried leaves...

For a moment he couldn't help but squeeze her close, swallowing hard against the emotion that ached in his throat. Emily yelped in surprise, then wrapped her arms hard around his neck and hugged back.

And then Jessamine was there, leaning against Corvo's side. Her braid brushed his shoulder. She was flushed from the day's heat, but her eyes were clear, questioning as they met his.

Attano was nowhere in sight; perhaps he was waiting for them around the corner, cautioned by Jessamine to stay back for a moment. Corvo didn't care. He almost hoped his counterpart had gone ahead and returned to the apartment, removing his grating presence from Corvo's periphery, though he knew that was highly unlikely. Annoying and tactless though he was, he wouldn't leave an Empress and her daughter alone in a strange city.

Jessamine looked at the fresh dusty streaks on Emily's white clothing and visibly held back some gently scolding words. "That was quite high!" she praised instead, reaching out to comb Emily's tangled hair out of her face. "Weren't you frightened?"

Emily pulled her head out of the way and shook her hair wildly, tousling it even more. _"No,"_ she said, wrinkling her nose like that was the silliest question she'd ever heard. "I knew Corvo would catch me."

The words hit unexpectedly hard. Corvo flinched, his eyes prickling. Emily didn't mean anything by it, but his throat closed anyway, at her unthinking, generous trust even after he'd failed both her and her mother so terribly...

Emily was really getting far too big to be carried like this. Corvo's arms burned already, but he hoisted her a little higher, trying to prop most her weight on his hip. So long as she was happy to let herself be held, he would hold her.

"Yes," Jessamine said quietly. "He does that."

Corvo stared hard at the uneven pavement. Jessamine leaned close, pressing up against his side. Emily had her hand fisted in the collar of Corvo's coat. She stayed quiet and unmoving, her chin hooked over Corvo's shoulder, breathing softly against his ear.

Jessamine looked at him. Their gazes caught and held. Her eyes went soft with compassion at whatever she saw on his face. She brought her right hand up in a fist, touching it to her chest in a rubbed circle. It was the sign for _'I'm sorry.'_

Corvo gritted his teeth, trying not to scowl. She had nothing to be sorry for. He felt like a ship lost at sea, tossed arbitrarily by the waves. A moment ago he'd been all but blinking back tears, and now he had to fight down misplaced irritation. 

It wasn't Jessamine he was angry with. She didn't deserve his ire just because she was concerned or even sad for him. He bit the inside of his cheek, staring over her shoulder at a crack running up the masonry of the nearest building, until he felt more in control of his expression.

He made himself look at her and shook his head. It wasn't her fault, she had no need to apologize, but he couldn't give her any more right then. Perhaps Jessamine understood; she winced and nodded, but her arm stayed around his waist.

Emily wiggled, tired of being carried. Corvo let her down, and half expected her to run for the mouth of the little courtyard as soon as her feet touched the ground. 

But she stayed by his other side. Her small, dry hand slipped into his palm again. She didn't look at him, but something about her touch, and Jessamine's solid presence, made the yawning ache in his chest ease a little bit.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a honker, but I really wanted to end it where I did, and didn't think it was altogether enough material to chop in half. After this, it's back to Dunwall!
> 
> Let me tell you about my ASL fail re: Corvo's name sign; the one I used below actually just means 'bird'. I _thought_ I'd found a specific sign for 'crow,' and spent some time painstakingly describing it. "Huh," I thought, "I recognize so many letters in there. The last gesture even looks like a w!" --And then I realized that the little video I found was just someone finger-spelling it. I facepalmed, and decided to go with 'bird' instead.
> 
> Please also forgive the mentions of rice. I tried very hard to think of another grain that might be more likely to be cultivated in Karnaca, but once I was neck-deep in agricultural research I decided to just post the damn chapter already. I may come back to edit this in the future.
> 
> Anyway--thank you so, so much to anyone and everyone who's still reading along, and I hope you enjoy this update! ♥

Attano disappeared at around four o'clock. 

He'd brought them back to the apartment, then left again half an hour later, after downing a few glasses of water and rummaging around in the bedroom. He didn't look markedly different when he went out the door alone, but Corvo spotted the slight stiffness to his walk that told him he'd shoved a dagger or two into his boots.

Jessamine lay down for a nap. The Serkonan summer had tired her out, and she hadn't slept well the night before anyway. 

Emily was flagging a little, but not enough sleep too. "Corvo!" she said instead, bright-eyed and commanding, then winced when Jessamine mumbled in her sleep and turned over on the couch.

She put her finger to her lips, then waved Corvo closer. Her fingers fidgeted with the collar of her blouse, and after a moment of fumbling, she produced a flower.

She must have picked it off the side of the road and tucked it into her blouse. It was a fire lily, vibrantly orange and only a little squashed by resting against her heart for a while.

Her nimble fingers snatched Corvo's sleeve. She pulled him into the hallway until they stood in front of the guest room, then explained in a whisper that she wanted to give it to Geoff to help him recuperate, and because she was sorry he had not gotten to see Karnaca, but she wasn't sure if it was proper, and what did Corvo think, since he was Geoff's friend?

Corvo suppressed a fond smile, because he knew Emily was asking her question in all seriousness, and he could see the nervous furrow between her brows even in the half-light. _'I think he would very much appreciate the gesture,'_ he replied.

Emily hesitated, wrinkling her nose. "He-- what?"

_'He would like that,'_ Corvo repeated, choosing simpler signs. Especially over the past year, Emily had gotten so good at the language of hands that he often forgot that she still had much to learn.

She frowned at his fingers, nodding. "What was the word you made before?"

Corvo finger-spelled 'appreciate' for her, then repeated the rubbed circle of his flat palm on his chest. 

Emily mouthed the word to herself. For someone who often neglected the homework her tutors assigned her, she was quite diligent about learning sign language. She had a little notebook at home, filled with drawings and scribbles to help her memorize new signs as she learned them. 

She fidgeted with the flower, tugging restlessly on the petals. They weren't going limp yet; Serkonan flowers had to be sturdy to survive the hot climate, and would not wilt the minute they were uprooted. 

"Captain Curnow is the one who'll bring us back to Dunwall," Emily explained to Corvo, as though he'd asked her to justify her idea. "And we _have_ to go back, Mother most of all..."

She looked at the door. It took her a moment to swallow her pride, then she blurted out, "Will you stay?"

Corvo had been ready for the question, so he managed to hold back another smile. He nodded instead, and took up position across from the door, out of sight but close enough to hear.

Emily tugged on the petals, arranging them to lie just so. Then she straightened her back and knocked.

"Come in," Geoff called from within the room, a little breathy but more or less normal-sounding.

Emily opened the door and stepped into the room. She left the door open, and Corvo spotted Geoff sitting up in bed. He looked much better than he had this morning: still pale and sick, but no longer sweaty and feverish. His eyes were tired but clear, and he looked at Emily with some surprise.

"My lady," he said. He moved abruptly as though to rise, then grimaced and touched his sore chest. "Forgive me..." 

At one point Curnow must have given him one of his shirts to borrow; it was clean and pristine, and though the bandages looked bulky through the fabric, there were no dark, wet spots bleeding through. The mark on his chest must have scabbed over. Corvo spared a moment of amusement for Curnow's wardrobe: now he had given them two of his shirts, one to Jessamine and one to his other self.

"Captain Curnow," Emily said, inclining her head in greeting. "Please don't trouble yourself. I know you mean no disrespect."

She spoke differently than she talked to Corvo. Her words were formal, stilted, and made her sound older than she was. She was repeating things she'd heard Jessamine say, testing phrases that her etiquette tutors had made her write down.

"How are you feeling?" Emily asked politely.

"Much improved, your highness," Geoff said. Though his eyes were shadowed and bloodshot from the pain he'd endured, Corvo heard the truth in his words. "Thank you."

A short silence fell. Emily shifted from foot to foot. Behind her back, her hands clenched nervously, squishing the flower a little. 

"Um-- I hope it hasn't been too boring here," she said, trying to keep up with her script.

Geoff shook his head. "Not at all, my lady. I've mostly been sleeping."

He gently rubbed at his chest again. The wounds likely itched. Some of the cuts that the black-eyed boy had made had been deep, others shallower. Corvo knew firsthand how annoying it was to heal cuts of different depth; while one might have scabbed over, its healing skin pulled painfully on the deeper ones. Though the edges of the wound as a whole might have felt nearly healed, Geoff would have to be careful not to put too much strain on the center.

Emily leaned forward, fascinated. Some of her curiosity leaked through her courtly, professional mask. "Can you feel it? The magic?"

Geoff carefully did not smile at her inquisitive look. "I am not sure, your highness," he said. "I've never felt arcane energies before, but the wound isn't quite what I expected."

Corvo couldn't see Emily's face from his angle, but there was a frown in her voice. "You've gotten hurt before?"

"Yes, my lady. In the line of duty." Geoff waved that away like any other soldier might have, deeming it hardly worth a shrug. "This... injury, I suppose you could call it," he gestured at his chest, "feels different."

"Really? How so?" Emily asked, for all the world sounding like a student at the Academy of Natural Philosophy.

Geoff paused to think. His forehead creased. "Have you ever sat cross-legged for too long," he asked, "and had your foot fall asleep? That numb, painful prickle?"

"Pins and needles," Emily said. "Yes."

"It feels like that." Geoff hesitated for a moment, then closed his mouth, likely deeming any further detail too graphic for a ten-year-old to hear.

"Fascinating!" Emily said. She sounded like she was smiling. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet, holding tight to the flower behind her back--perhaps she had forgotten all about it, her focus neatly diverted to the magic.

"You know, when we get back, you should really go talk to Sokolov. He's the Royal Physician," she explained, though Geoff likely knew that. "He's always trying to learn more about magic. He'll be happy to talk to you."

Geoff frowned. He glanced over Emily's shoulder into the hallway, questioning, and Corvo realized that Geoff could see him--the shadows weren't as deep as he'd thought. He gave Geoff a small shrug and an inviting tilt of his head.

Geoff propped himself up higher on his pillows. He licked his lips, visibly arranging his words before he said them. "Your highness," he began carefully, "I believe it would be best if we... concealed the means by which the Empress has dodged Burrows' attempt on her life."

Emily paused. "Really? Why?"

A short, befuddled silence fell; Geoff blinked at her in surprise. Apparently he had not expected to have to spell it out. He explained, "The Abbey of the Everyman does not look kindly on heretics."

Emily scoffed. "You're not a _heretic,"_ she said. "You're helping us go back. And the other Corvo isn't a heretic either..." 

She giggled suddenly. "Did you hear him in that house? He _yelled_ at the Outsider!"

"He did," Geoff said. His gaze flickered briefly to Corvo, then back to Emily; he looked somewhat out of his depth. "My lady, I really don't think..."

Emily's hands came out from behind her back. She waved away Geoff's tentative protest, and said, "It's alright, you don't have to talk to Sokolov if you don't want to..."

Geoff looked at the flower she was waving around, which was at last starting to look a bit bedraggled. Emily looked too, and from her exasperated tsk-ing noise, Corvo could tell she'd stopped herself from swearing just in time.

"Um-- I meant to give you this," she said, and Corvo could see her ears turn red. She went up to Geoff's bedside and held out the flower, her palm stained with plant juice. "I thought it might help you recover..."

Geoff accepted her gift, a little bemused but touched. He brushed his fingers over the delicate petals, smiling at the vibrant color. "Thank you, your highness," he said, inclining his head in a half-bow. "That is most thoughtful of you."

Emily barely heard him; she'd darted over to the door, and leaned out into the hallway, thoroughly preoccupied with the practicalities of her gift. "Corvo, would you fetch us a vase, please?"

Corvo bowed gravely, formally, his right hand clasped over his heart. Emily giggled, which was what he'd hoped for, and when she turned back to Geoff she said, "I saw it by the road and thought it was sad that you couldn't come with us..."

In the kitchen, Curnow was sweating and swearing over the stove, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Steam curled out from under the big saucepan's lid, and the whole room smelled mouth-wateringly of tender meat and spices.

Corvo pointed at the cabinet, questioning, and Curnow waved him on distractedly. "Go ahead, help yourself," he said, then bent over an array of small bowls that were laid out on the counter. "Did I forget the fucking cumin...?"

Corvo poured some water into the random glass he'd taken, then sidled around Curnow, who'd grabbed two singed potholders and was staring grimly at the saucepan's heavy, cast-iron lid as though it was solely responsible for any and all evil that had ever befallen him. Corvo hurriedly got out of the kitchen.

The flower looked very pretty on the nightstand beside Geoff's bed. The rim of the glass propped up the mildly squashed stem. It was just one blossom, but the bright red lit up the room, lending some color to the plain beige wallpaper and the white sheets.

It was only then that Corvo realized how plain and unadorned the guest room was, compared to the cluttered, lived-in air of the rest of the apartment. Perhaps Attano and Curnow entertained many guests, and the little extra bedroom saw so much use that they hesitated to add personal effects to it, since it was barely ever empty anyway...

The clock ticked past five o'clock. The shadows lengthened, the sunlight going golden and warm. 

The changing light made Emily nervous. She grew anxious and fidgety, looking at the windows and tugging on the buttons of her blouse again. Some of that haunted, half-frightened look was back in her eyes. If she had nothing to occupy herself with, Corvo reasoned, the gnawing thoughts and memories that had disturbed her mind by the tree might come back.

He sat her down on the hallway floor to avoid disturbing Jessamine, who slumbered on in the drawing room. They played a few rounds of cards, with a deck that smelled faintly of whiskey and sported artwork that was subtly different from the cards he'd seen in Dunwall.

Attano had yet to return. The delicious scent of freshly cooked rice wafted out of the kitchen. Emily held up the Jack of Spades and proclaimed that the grim-faced soldier looked just like him. Corvo pressed a hand to his heart, feigning offense, and Emily hurried to reassure him that he was much friendlier in disposition.

Jessamine woke, stretching and yawning on the couch. She looked much less tired, though rumpled and flushed from sleep. Emily pounced on her instantly, and told her that her hair looked _terrible,_ and did she want Emily's help with untangling it? Jessamine rubbed sleep out of her eyes, and let Emily tug her into the bathroom, yawning behind her free hand.

Curnow stood in the hallway, frowning at the front door like he expected to summon his partner with the force of his gaze alone. "Should I wait with dinner...?" he muttered, though he didn't seem to expect a reply.

He was trying not to show it, but Corvo could tell he was getting nervous. He went onto the balcony to smoke, closing the door and hastily lighting his cigar, blowing smoke out of his nostrils and peering up and down the street while flicking ash onto the railing.

When Jessamine came out of the bathroom half an hour later, her braid looked only marginally better. But Emily beamed with pride, so Corvo paid her the appropriate compliments. 

Then Emily showed Jessamine the deck of cards, and the one she thought looked like Corvo. Together they leafed through the other cards. Emily said that the Queen of Hearts looked like a version of Esma Boyle who'd swallowed several sewer rats. Jessamine said, "Well, that's not very nice," but Corvo heard the quiver of held-back laughter in her voice.

Emily cocked her head and squinted at the small portrait. She assessed it carefully, then nodded to Jessamine like a revered art connoisseur accepting a naive comment from a critic. "You're right, Mother," she said. "Maybe it was only a frog."

***

It was a quarter to seven when Attano reappeared, carrying a rune.

He wouldn't reveal where he had found it. "Around," was all he said, to Jessamine's repeated questions. He smelled of sweat and fresh, overturned soil, and faintly of blood.

It was a heavy, palm-sized thing, and it clanked loudly when Attano put it down. Corvo wasn't sure where he had concealed it on the way back; it seemed too large to fit into any pocket. But when he looked at it from a certain angle, the rune seemed to shrink until it was barely bigger than a coin. Faint wisps of black smoke rose from the polished bone, and looking at it made Corvo's vision blur oddly, like he was looking at something that warped with the fabric of reality itself.

Jessamine frowned at Attano, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "It was just lying in an alley?" she asked, skeptical.

"Yeah," Attano said. He winced when he took off his jacket; his left shoulder seemed to be sore. "You'd be surprised what you can find on the ground in Karnaca if you look closely enough."

Jessamine's eyes narrowed. She didn't answer.

Corvo's counterpart might have gotten his flippancy past Jessamine, but he was no match for Curnow, who descended on him with a grim expression. He yanked Attano's right hand into the light, turning it over, and glared when he found his knuckles red and swollen. 

To Attano's credit, he put up no resistance when Curnow dragged him into the bathroom. He left the door ajar, and Corvo caught a glimpse of them--Curnow dabbed at Attano's knuckles with a damp cloth, head bent over his task, berating him in hissed whispers. Attano only hummed occasionally in assent. He was busy looking down at Curnow's bent head with a small, fond smile.

Feeling distinctly like he was spying on something private, Corvo turned away.

The rune lay on the low table in the drawing room. For an artifact of black magic, it looked quite unassuming. The leather straps attached to it were lighter than the ones from the Flooded District. It didn't have that salt-crusted look and lingering dampness; this artifact likely hadn't come from the sea.

Corvo frowned thoughtfully. Were Karnaca's runes hidden elsewhere? He'd thought that all arcane artifacts came from the sea, being made of whalebone... but he knew little of magic, so it was probably best not to speculate.

"And now?" Jessamine asked, eyeing the thing with some skepticism.

Attano came out of the bathroom, shaking out his bruised hand, which shone slickly from Curnow's treatment. "Now we wait," he declared, still remarkably cheerful for someone who'd just returned from a scuffle.

He sniffed the air like a bloodhound. "I smell Old Man Thomas' chicken," he said, then took another long breath and frowned. "Geoff, for fuck's sake, don't tell me you forgot the cumin."

Curnow threw the tin of ointment at him. Attano caught it, cackling, and ducked past the half-hearted swipe Curnow aimed at his head.

***

Dusk fell faster than it had last night. The air smelled charged and oddly sweet. A metallic stench rose from the mines and enveloped the city: a dust storm was coming.

It'd been nearly two decades since Corvo had felt that specific discomfort prickling at the back of his neck. There was an almost preternatural awareness of the weather that was innate to Karnacan natives. Until now, he hadn't quite believed that it had survived the intervening time and years spent in Dunwall.

Geoff had joined them for dinner. He was now able to sit up with no trouble, though he held himself carefully to avoid aggravating the bandaged wound on his chest. 

Emily had been fascinated by the concept of chutney. "It's like jam, but not sweet!" she said several times, heaping more and more of it onto her rice.

"Emily, please leave some for the rest of us," Jessamine admonished gently, while at the same time gesturing half-heartedly at Curnow that she did not need a second helping of chicken.

"Nonsense," Attano said, smiling. "Eat as much as you like. It was my mother's recipe, who in turn got it from an elderly neighbor..."

Corvo, who abruptly realized why the taste was so very familiar, felt the mashed vinegary fruits turn sour in his mouth. Just like last night, Curnow had taken great care with the food; he'd fried the chicken until it all but fell apart, then shredded it with the help of forks, heaping thick sauce on top.

The dish was probably to be consumed with a knife and fork; instead, Curnow had turned it into something more like stew with rice in deference to Corvo's difficulties. They were all eating with spoons, and neither Emily nor Jessamine seemed to find anything amiss with their utensils.

The tentative ease Corvo had felt creep up on him, sitting at the table with the others and being able to once again eat without the aid of his fingers, evaporated. Suddenly it was like trying to hold a mouthful of ash. It was all he could do not to cough. His eyes watered, and he only just managed to swallow without choking, gasping for breath once he was done.

"Oh, well, if you are sure--" Jessamine said to Curnow, a little bashful, and sat back and allowed him to ladle another big helping into her bowl.

A small foot kicked him hard in the knee. Emily winced and gave him a wide-eyed, apologetic look, then poked him gently in the leg, running the toe of her shoe down his shin in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture.

Corvo tried to smile at her, though his face felt numb. Emily winced at the sight, but pressed her foot harder against his shin. Corvo looked away, guilt rising in him--more than anything, he didn't want to unsettle her, no matter how much his stomach suddenly churned.

Geoff's eyes were fixed on him, blue and keenly aware. He turned to Curnow and said, rather loudly, "You know, I've never mastered the art of cooking myself..."

Both Jessamine and Emily looked at Geoff. Corvo instantly breathed easier as attention was diverted away from him. Blood rushed and roared in his ears, and he stared down into his bowl.

"I tried once to prepare dinner for Callista," Geoff said, smiling wryly. "It took days to clear out the smell of charred fish. My housekeeper banned me from the kitchen. She's as old as Dunwall itself, but give her a soup ladle and she can be terrifying."

"It's not that hard, really!" Curnow insisted. "The most important thing is to find the right ingredients..." He hesitated, then took a breath, bracing himself. "What about-- Callista, can she cook?"

"A little bit," Geoff replied, after a small pause. He spoke slowly, taking more care with his words as he peered at his other self, wary of hurting him. "I don't want her to feel like she has to take care of her bachelor uncle, you see, so I never ask her to..."

Curnow had likely braced himself; he just nodded, then launched into a narration of how he'd made tonight's dinner. From Jessamine's careful attention, she was probably taking mental notes to share with the Tower's housekeeper. 

Corvo ate a smaller spoonful of rice, foregoing the chutney this time, and found he could swallow again. He would have to thank Geoff later for deflecting attention away from him. Emily's toes stayed pressed to his shin; her shoe was probably leaving a dusty smudge on his trousers.

***

Nine o'clock found Corvo once again on the balcony. Clouds had gathered on the horizon, hanging lowest over the bay. The Mining District was to the east, the famed wind corridor already whistling ominously. The metal and wood tubes stood on spindly legs, creaking in the rising wind; they looked like strange overgrown insects, looking out towards the Grand Palace.

It was strange to realize that Attano had chosen to settle down on the same side of the bay. If someone had forced Corvo to uproot his Gristolian life and return to Karnaca now, he would've invested every coin he owned into an apartment as far away from Batista as possible.

His knee still ached a little where Emily had kicked him. Once dinner had been done, and the dishes cleared away, she'd started to yawn, and only raised some half-hearted objections when Jessamine told her it was time for bed.

Geoff insisted that, since he was feeling better, he would sleep on the couch so that Jessamine and Emily could bed down in the guest room. Jessamine had protested at first, but relented reluctantly when Geoff refused to be swayed.

Emily had yawned right into Corvo's ear when she hugged him goodnight. She blinked sleepily, but the sight of him seemed to wake her up a little. Her dark eyes widened as something occurred to her. She hesitated, then said, "Corvo..."

The moment of wakeful attention slipped away; she lost her train of thought. She patted his arm and yawned again, wiping her watering eyes. "I'll tell you later. --Don't stay up too late!"

Corvo leaned his elbows onto the railing and looked down at the cobblestones below. The street was markedly quieter tonight. No strains of music could be heard, and the laughing chatter of friends getting ready to haunt local taverns was absent as well. 

Perhaps, in the quiet, Emily and Jessamine could sleep for a while, at least for however long it would take until they returned to Dunwall.

Thirty hours, the Outsider had said, and not a minute less... it seemed strange to pinpoint the exact time at which the magic in Geoff would begin to work. Corvo still wasn't sure what exactly would happen. On the drawing room table, the rune still emitted its faint curls of smoke, and pulsed oddly as it shrunk and grew when he looked at it for too long. But Geoff didn't look like there was anything supernatural brewing inside him. 

The approaching storm put a dampening veil across the city. Even the nocturnal crickets chirped less. The bird calls sounded muffled, as though the air was already choked with silver dust from the oncoming storm. A dog barked in the distance, a high and plaintive note to its hoarse voice.

The door to the apartment creaked open. Attano stepped out onto the balcony. The mingling murmur of Geoff and Curnow's voices drifted out of the drawing room before Attano nudged the door almost shut. 

For a moment Corvo expected him to pull out a cigar and begin to smoke. Then he remembered Curnow saying that Attano did not smoke either, and realized the man likely did not want them to be overheard.

"Evening," Attano said, inclining his head in greeting. Then he leaned against the railing beside him, folding his hands loosely in much the same way Corvo had done.

Corvo shot him a wary glance, then looked back down at the street. Whatever his counterpart wanted to say that had to stay between them, Corvo certainly was in no mood to make it any easier. 

Attano just stood there for a while. He rubbed his thumb gently over his fingertips, a thoughtful gesture. His knuckles already looked less swollen under the ointment Curnow had applied. There was a tight pinch to his mouth, the solemn look of a man bracing himself.

Finally he said, "I wonder what happened to it."

Corvo sighed. He should have known better than to hope stony silence would discourage him. He turned to his counterpart and gave him an inquisitive look.

"My-- your tongue," Attano elaborated. "Do you suppose the soldiers kept it as a trophy? Seems unlikely. Perhaps an alley cat ate it..."

Sudden, white-hot rage shot through Corvo. He felt himself snarl, his lips pulled back from his teeth as his anger boiled over, and his nails cut into his palm as he balled his right hand into a fist--

For a moment, he nearly felt it: the warm crunch of Attano's nose under his fist, the harder, more unforgiving impact of his cheekbone against his knuckles; the faint scratch of stubble, then a pop as his lip split. Blood would trickle down his chin and paint his teeth red when he grinned back at Corvo...

\--And Attano was standing with his feet slid apart, his shoulders tightly set. He'd scrunched up his face into a grimace, his eyes squeezed almost shut.

"Go on," he said, pressing the words through his teeth and trying not to cringe. "Hit me. I know you want to."

Corvo stared at him. The burning urge to hit him faded as quickly as it'd come. 

It left behind a hollow kind of shock. He'd been ready to punch Attano just because he'd made a tactless comment... that wasn't like him. 

He took a step back, and another, retreating as far as the narrow balcony allowed. A chill crept under his clothes, raising goosebumps on his arms. The day's frustration and roiling pain had been so ready to explode out of him, directing itself at the nearest convenient target...

Attano opened one eye to peer at him, then blinked when he realized no punch was forthcoming. "No? Nothing?" he asked, then sighed and rolled his shoulders, shaking out his arms. "You're a tough nut to crack. I was hoping you'd just break my nose, get it over with."

Corvo gritted his teeth. Of course Attano had tried to provoke him, and Corvo clung to that small foothold in the flash of horror that'd gripped him. Attano had just happened to hit him right where it already hurt, and nearly snapped his control. Corvo was no more or less inclined to violence than usual.

_'I have no reason to strike you,'_ he retorted. _'You saved her majesty's life.'_

Attano rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Oh, don't give me that," he said, with surprising sharpness. "I wasn't born yesterday, and you are as bad at dissembling as I am."

The red wave lapped at him again, but this time it was easier not to clench his hands into fists. Corvo blew out a harsh breath instead. _'I will not hit you while my daughter sleeps just two doors away.'_

"Your--?" Attano glanced behind himself, like Emily would materialize out of thin air on the balcony, then cleared his throat. "Oh. Right. Almost forgot that."

The thought of Emily seemed to knock him off-kilter. He stared at Corvo, a little wide-eyed, then opened and closed his mouth several times. The wind blew his hair out of his face, tangling the dark curls. 

For the first time, Corvo wondered if Attano had shorn the sides of his head to make wearing a helmet more bearable in the Karnacan weather. Their eyes were the same, the _same..._ it still gave Corvo a turn to see. He was almost grateful that Attano wore his hair differently, and that the gruesome scar marred his cheek. 

Attano took several breaths, then finally blurted out, "What's it like? Being a father?"

He didn't flinch under Corvo's flat look. The tips of his ears reddened a little, but he held Corvo's gaze. The set of his shoulders was tight and braced.

"You see, I..." He took a slow breath of the dusty air and gestured vaguely at the street. "I won't ever have children."

Corvo blinked at him. Quite automatically, he glanced at his counterpart's crotch. 

Attano laughed easily, unoffended. "No, I haven't had some gruesome accident. Sorry to disappoint." 

He sobered, though the crinkle of his laugh lines didn't fade. Some of the stiffness faded from his shoulders. "It's much more mundane than that," he said. "I wouldn't leave Geoff for the world, let alone for someone who's going to pop out kids if I'm not careful..."

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, wincing a little as he lifted his arm; his shirt pulled against the bandages that still covered his chest under his shirt. "Unlike you, I never lost my distaste for the fairer sex."

_Distaste._ Corvo scowled, his hackles rising. How could Attano speak so irreverently, like he was talking about nothing more substantial than the weather? He could have stripped off his clothing as he spoke, and it would have been less disconcerting. 

Attano leaned over the railing, looking down at the street. The wind yanked on the laces of his shirt, tangling them. He rubbed thoughtfully at his scar, running his short nails across the pits and grooves of it.

"Have you ever felt it?" he asked, without looking at Corvo. "A... pull, I suppose, towards men?"

Corvo shook his head. It did not matter whether or not he had; he wouldn't share something so private with this man. Attano might look like him, but he wasn't Corvo--he'd proven that over and over again today, with every careless smile and ill-timed sneer. He was just a stranger wearing Corvo's skin, and he'd done nothing to earn Corvo's trust...

The wind picked up, whistling around corners and through tiny crevices in the brickwork. The windows of the building on the other side of the street rattled. Dried leaves skittered past in the street below, rustling loudly enough to sound almost like furtive footsteps.

Corvo forced his hands open, which had clenched into fists again, before his nails could scratch his palms. That wasn't true. He was hurting, and it was making him thoroughly unfair. 

Attano had saved Jessamine's life, and his own as well, and helped them recover Emily. He'd opened his home to them, shared his time and the influence of his magic, pulling himself across dimensions to help...

It wasn't his fault that Corvo did not want to be here, in Karnaca. It wasn't even really Attano's fault that Corvo didn't like him, and that his voice-- _Corvo's_ voice, set his teeth on edge and the memory of Jessamine's name falling so easily from his lips filled him with acidic, jealous rage... 

The next breath Corvo took tasted of dust and metal. He turned to face his other self and set his jaw, preparing himself to be truthful. He _had_ felt a measure of... attraction to men in the past, though never as much as to women--

Attano was talking again, though; he hadn't paused to wait for Corvo to collect himself. "--I had a... _friend,_ I suppose, in the guard. Beatrici used to give me hell about it. She never agreed with the Abbey that it was unnatural, but she tried to make me stop seeing him. I think she was scared..."

He sighed, shooting Corvo a wry look. He leaned his hip against the railing, starting to fold his arms across his chest, but then thought better of it and tucked his thumbs into his pockets instead. 

"Of course, then Mother died and Beatrici went away to Morley," he said, slightly bitter. "So she cannot have been that worried." 

Corvo raised his eyebrows. That was unexpected. _'She went away?'_ he asked.

Attano pressed his lips together, then nodded. "Yeah. Just up and left. She did say goodbye, but--" A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "But not in a way I understood, at the time."

Corvo stared at him, hardly daring to breathe. This was... he hadn't counted on this, at all. He'd thought that it would be one of the subtle differences they'd discovered, another instance where a butterfly's wing-beats had set the cogs of their lives turning differently...

His version of Beatrici hadn't given him a goodbye. Her letters had come less and less frequently, and then one day they'd trailed off. Corvo kept writing for two months, until one day a bundle of his letters was sent back by the Empire's postal service, unopened. Even that had been a privilege: if it hadn't been for Corvo's prestigious return address, the postmen would've just thrown his missives away.

At the time, Jessamine had noticed Corvo's preoccupation, and after a bit of coaxing, he'd told her that his sister had disappeared. He'd never had much to do with Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin, but the Emperor had launched an inquiry at his daughter's request.

A week later, Corvo had received a very official-looking letter from Duke Theodanis himself, detailing that Beatrici appeared to have sold her modest apartment, packed up her things, and left for Morley. She had left nothing, no notice or letter, for her younger brother.

He shook his head to clear it of the memory: that sick, sinking feeling of staring down at the Duke's signature. His only living family, lost, with no word and no way for him to reach her or find out what she'd been thinking...

Attano frowned at him; it was odd how he seemed able to read Corvo, when Corvo found him so frustratingly cryptic. "What?" he asked.

It took Corvo a moment to assemble his thoughts. He signed slowly, trying to make sure Attano understood him. _'I would have thought that in this world, she stayed here, since you never left for Gristol.'_

Attano shook his head. "I was nineteen when she left," he said. "She wrote me one letter, just one, that she'd made her way to Morley and was safe. She made an odd joke that so many of Morley's citizens fled the famine to Karnaca, it was only just that a single Karnacan refugee would be welcome. Then I never heard from her again."

Corvo frowned. Nineteen... he'd been nineteen too, if he recalled correctly. Beatrici's letters had stopped coming just a few months after his birthday. According to the Duke, new tenants had moved into her apartment in the Month of Darkness...

This answered a question he'd had for a while, though distantly. _'So you're not younger than I am.'_

"Younger?" Attano repeated, surprised. "No. You're, what, thirty-nine now?" 

Corvo nodded. "So am I," Attano said. 

The shadow that'd descended on him at the thought of Beatrici lifted. It was strangely relieving to see that there were things about their past that bothered Attano too. Perhaps he'd been able to stand in that accursed narrow alley and look unflinchingly up at the windows, but the absence of his sister had struck a wound into him as well.

He looked intrigued now, tilting his head to watch Corvo carefully. "Why did you think I was younger?"

Corvo suppressed a sigh. He shouldn't have said anything--there was probably no way to phrase 'you are brash and irreverent' politely. He cast about for words, never his strongest suit, and finally settled on a more or less diplomatic, _'You look different.'_

Attano lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Maybe I am just less stressed," he replied. "I don't have as much responsibility. The weight of an Empire doesn't rest on my shoulders." 

_'It did, for a little while,'_ Corvo pointed out: at the gazebo, his other self had wrenched around the course of the Empire with all his might. 

Attano laughed. "Tried it, hated it," he said, almost cheerful, then paused and thought for a moment. "Well, not hated, perhaps... I'm just not cut out for it. Not like you."

He gave Corvo a small smile, glancing him quickly up and down. There was-- _respect_ in his dark eyes, Corvo thought, surprised despite himself. No sneer hid in the corners of his mouth.

Attano must have mistaken Corvo's astonished look for an invitation to explain. "You don't fuck around," he said, and gestured vaguely towards the street. "At all. I think I've seen you smile once."

"That's not true," Emily said suddenly, making them both jump. "Corvo smiles a lot."

Attano had flinched harder than Corvo; for a moment he hardly appeared to be breathing at all, then let out his breath in a rush. _"Fuck,_ you're quiet," he gasped.

Emily just blinked up at him. She'd sneaked up on them, squeezing herself through the narrow gap Attano had left in the balcony door. A pillow crease had dug deep into her cheek, and her hair was in hopeless disarray, but her eyes were bright now, no longer tired.

"Corvo smiles a lot," she said again. "Just not at you."

Corvo hissed in a breath through his teeth. The blunt honesty of children... but Attano just laughed, bringing up a hand to scratch ruefully at his scar. "Ouch," he said. "Straight for the jugular. No, it's okay," he said, when Corvo raised his hands. "You don't have to like me."

It was fairly dark, and the clouds were heavy and foreboding over the city, ready to unleash the storm. But Corvo saw the fleeting uncertainty that crossed Attano's face, his eyebrows pulling into a small frown before he shook himself and pasted the smile back on.

Once again, it struck Corvo as unexpected and strange to realize that Attano was just as much at sea as he was and maybe, in his own way, even more nervous than him. Perhaps he even felt inferior somehow, being only a simple officer while Corvo had risen to lower nobility and protected an Empress...

His hand rose, his fingers spread, his thumb and middle finger touching his chest. _'I don't not like you.'_

He grimaced a little. That seemed both insufficient and too honest. But Attano's expression brightened at once, and his shoulders slumped with a relief that Corvo hadn't expected to see.

"That's a start," Attano said. He hesitated, then clapped Corvo on the arm, a brief touch. He looked from him to Emily and back. "But I sense a father-daughter talk is needed here."

"That's very polite of you," Emily said, approving.

Attano snorted. "Okay, okay, I'm going. Don't stay out here too long," he added over his shoulder. "Storm's brewing."

Corvo stared at the pitted scar that marred Attano's cheek, the close-cropped hair behind his ear as he sidled around Emily and reached out to open the door. An impulse rose in him, sudden and urgent.

He had a strange aversion to touching him, so he stepped on his heel instead, more gently than he'd done earlier. Attano stopped at once and turned back to him.

Now that his other self was looking at him expectantly, Corvo had no idea what he'd intended to say, if anything at all. The tips of his ears went hot with embarrassment. His hands moved to sign the very first thing which came to his mind, which was, _'Keep an eye on the clock for us?'_

Attano blinked. "Yeah," he said. "Of course."

There was no way to be sure, but Corvo thought he'd gotten the-- whatever it was he felt; grudging loyalty?-- across: there was a certain spring in Attano's step as he went back into the apartment and closed the door.

***

The glass door did a surprisingly good job at insulating the balcony from any noise. The murmur of Attano's voice faded right away. The whale oil lantern inside illuminated Curnow's face, turned questioningly towards his partner. Corvo didn't hear what he asked.

He turned to Emily, who'd watched the interlude with bright, attentive eyes. The light from inside glanced off her hair, warming the black to a very dark brown. After a day spent outside, it was even more obvious how bedraggled her clothes were. The once-pristine white was streaked with dust. The hole in her stockings at her knee had widened considerably.

She didn't look distressed, but Corvo still asked, _'Why aren't you in bed?'_ Had she had a bad dream? The nightmares had to start at some point, after the upheaval of the past two days.

"I woke up," she said. "I remembered what I wanted to say to you. --There's a storm coming, right?"

Corvo nodded. Emily didn't seem frightened by the prospect, but he itched to put a hand on her shoulder anyway. He held himself back--he didn't want to smother her with his concern. 

"Captain-- no, _Mr._ Curnow," Emily corrected herself, with a brief, sheepish smile, "he said it was a dust storm. I think I read about them in a book once. Is it true the dust is from the silver mines?"

_'Yes.'_ Corvo glanced automatically to the east, where the mines lay. The wind tunnels groaned and rattled in the distance, buffeted by the slowly rising gales.

The wind tugged harshly on Emily's hair, whipping the dark strands into her face. She wrinkled her nose and looked up at Corvo questioningly. "But shouldn't the whole city be full of silver, then?" Before he could reply, she brightened, smiling. "It should be all over everything, like snow. Or powdered sugar."

Corvo smiled back. _'The dust is too fine for that. And there isn't enough silver in it to make collecting it worthwhile.'_

"Oh," Emily said, her lower lip jutting out a little in disappointment.

She went to the railing and looked down, then craned her neck to try and look around the building to where the wind corridors creaked some miles away. She jittered around restlessly for a moment, then finally came to Corvo, gripping his wrist with both hands.

She stood there for a moment, staring silently at the apartment across the street: the curtains were drawn, and had been since Corvo had first laid eyes on him when he'd stood in this same spot last night, unable to sleep. No light came from within. The curtains were slightly bleached by the sun, but didn't look ragged or threadbare, so Corvo's best guess was that the apartment was inhabited, but its residents were on a holiday.

Light reflected in Emily's dark eyes. She took a deep breath and pulled on her hold on Corvo's wrist, looking imploringly up.

Corvo knelt until he could look her in the eye. He no longer had to hunch over to be of a height with her when he knelt. It wouldn't be long until she might not pull him down to her level at all, after another growth spurt.

Emily's gaze searched his face, flickering back and forth between his eyes. She chewed on her lip, visibly trying and discarding several things to say in her head. Corvo made sure not to frown, and tried to look as approachable as he could--he couldn't begin to imagine what she would say to him. Perhaps she _had_ had a bad dream after all, and only now resolved to tell him about it...

What Emily said though, after a moment of silence, was, "Did you talk to him?"

Corvo blinked. He hadn't expected that. He had to squash a small surge of resentment--why was she asking about _Attano?_ \--He nodded, not quite sure what she was getting at.

A short pause. Emily looked at him. The way she studied his face was so steady and mature that he felt eerily like Jessamine was looking at him through their daughter's eyes... or perhaps the part of Jessamine that was in her was looking out at him. 

One day she would be just as perceptive and alert as her mother, and then he would never get to brood in peace again.

"Was it good?" she asked. "Talking to him?"

Corvo nodded again, cautiously. Well--it certainly hadn't been _bad,_ or at least not as aggravating as he would've assumed it to be, had someone told him this morning that the evening would find him sharing the balcony and some words with his counterpart. 

She waved him a little closer, as though to tell him a secret. Emily's left hand was worrying at the buttons of her blouse again, twisting and pulling. Corvo leaned forward, until he could see the small furrow in her brow and hear the two faltering breaths she took as she braced herself to speak.

"You don't like being here," she said in a small voice. Her eyes were dark and troubled. "Do you?"

Corvo winced. His heart sank--Emily was only ten, but sometimes she was acutely, painfully aware of what was going on around her. She was a lively, outgoing child, but sensitive too, attuned to the emotions of those around her...

"It's okay," Emily said. She straightened her back, standing as tall as she could, and laid a small hand on his shoulder. Her voice wavered a little, but didn't break. "We'll be home soon."

Corvo managed a pained smile, tamping down on the complicated tangle of emotions that tightened his throat. She was so young, but she could be so compassionate, her keen brown eyes seeing more than any child should...

He had to reassure her, but didn't quite know how. He signed slowly, stalling for time. _'Was that what you wanted to tell me earlier?'_

Emily nodded quickly. Her frown eased into relief--she'd held the words inside for a while. "I wasn't sure before, but then you kept making that face." A seam creaked in protest as she pulled harder on the buttons. "I... I was worried."

Corvo raised his eyebrows. _'What face?'_

"I don't know," Emily said. She glanced through the door into the apartment, shifting her weight uneasily. "Like you're hurt and trapped in a small room, and you don't have your sword with you."

Corvo let out his breath slowly. He flattened his right hand against his thigh in an effort not to clench it into a fist. What was it about children that made them so perceptive? That was a more or less accurate--painfully accurate--description of what the past one and a half days had been like for him.

Emily reached out to pat his shoulder. "We'll be home soon though," she insisted. "I know it's-- _awful,_ being stuck somewhere you don't want to be..."

She pursed her lips, her gaze sliding off to the side. Corvo felt sure she was remembering the Flooded District. He thought again of the hours it'd taken them to reach the assassins' hideout--the damp, bare room he'd found Emily in, the dirt under her nails like she'd clawed at the rotting wooden door in a desperate attempt to free herself...

He hated that she thought she had to reassure him, though. She was _ten._ He should have hid his distress better, shoved it all down deeper... if he hadn't been able to hide from _Emily,_ then Jessamine had to be waiting in the wings to catch him alone to fuss over him.

_'Don't worry about me,'_ he told her anyway, gravely gathering his hands close to touch his middle fingers to his chest, a little more entreating than he'd meant to. _'If the magic works like he--'_

He hesitated, then just used his own name sign for brevity's sake--"crow," a quick pass of one finger in front of his forehead, then a beak-like tap of his index finger against his thumb by his mouth-- _'like Corvo said it would, it won't be long now.'_

Emily looked at his hands. "That's not really fair, is it?" she asked, sidetracked. "If he just gets your name sign? It's _yours._ He shouldn't... and he's _rude,"_ she added, with a half-scowl, like Corvo had made any sort of protest.

Corvo chuckled, the sound rusty and almost foreign in his throat. When was the last time on this blasted escapade that he'd laughed? The oppressive ache in his chest eased a little, and he did not even mind talking about Attano again, so long as it distracted his daughter from her efforts to comfort him.

He smoothed his face into earnest attention and ducked his head to catch her eye, every inch the advisor waiting on a high-born lady's wise word. _'What do you propose, my lady?'_

As he'd hoped, the honorific made her smile. "Well, we don't _know_ him, not really," she said slowly, thoughtful. "So it wouldn't be right to make something up." 

She frowned, staring at something just above Corvo's left shoulder. "We could just finger-spell your last name, perhaps?"

And she did, moving smoothly through the letters and taking care to round both o's, then slowing a little over the first two syllables of his surname--he couldn't blame her; forming a's, t's and n's in such quick succession wasn't the easiest exercise.

A short silence fell. Emily looked up at him expectantly. Belatedly, Corvo inclined his head in assent. _'An elegant solution.'_

Her regard warmed him, as did hier stout refusal to pass his name sign on to Attano like an unloved heirloom. The lump in his throat wasn't gone, but it had softened considerably. He took a breath, and felt like it was the first deep inhale he'd taken all night. The air tasted of dry, dusty heat. The storm had not hit them yet, but fine grains of sand already crunched between his teeth.

Emily peered at him, fidgeting. "We haven't finger-spelled you in ages, so it's alright if we do it for him, isn't it?" she asked, urgent and worried. "It won't take anything away from you... Corvo?"

Corvo marshaled his composure and shook his head. _'It's a good idea,'_ he told her firmly. _'Most diplomatic and clever.'_

Emily let out a sigh of relief. Her shoulders slumped. "It's good that there's only one of Mother here," she said. "Spelling her name takes _forever."_

Corvo snorted. A great weariness descended on him, sudden like a curtain falling. The air seemed to press all around him, holding him down, and his limbs felt limp and tired, like the conversation had drained him of more than just some composure.

He sat down gracelessly, wincing when his weight was taken off his knee. He sat half-crosslegged, positioning himself so that he would be able to get up at a moment's notice, but he hoped he wouldn't have to. He clenched his jaw shut around a yawn, blinking quickly--the drawn curtains of the apartment opposite of them blurred briefly in his vision.

Emily sat, too, on a rumpled blue coattail that'd spread out beside Corvo. She pulled her knees to her chest and leaned against him--not just lightly, but a boneless slump of her whole body, like she felt some of his tiredness too. 

Corvo wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Together they watched the clouds roll across the rooftops. If they'd been a bit higher up, they might have been able to see the bay and the sea beyond it, where the clouds would hang so low that it looked like they touched the water. 

The heard the distant cries of seagulls, though, growing quieter as even they hunkered down to wait out the storm that rolled in. When the first thicker grains of sand began to clatter against the building, Corvo ushered his daughter back inside.

***

And then it all went surprisingly fast.

The dust storm howled and hissed outside. Wind shrieked through the corridor, and things clattered and fell over down in the street. Trees groaned and creaked, torn-off leaves whipping past the windows as night fell fast.

Though it was still quite warm in the apartment, Corvo did up all the buttons of his coat. He adjusted his sword belt and strapped his pistol back to his chest. It felt oddly like preparing for a journey by carriage: making sure his personal effects were in order and he was ready to leave.

Jessamine came out of the guest bedroom, her face flushed from sleep, but her eyes sharp and alert. The braid Emily had helped her fix was ruined again, shorter bits pulling out of the long rope of hair, but she just tucked the errant strands behind her ears.

At first she stood leaning against the wall, reluctant to sit down. Corvo couldn't blame her; restless energy itched under his skin too, and all that kept him from fidgeting was that he shared a couch with Emily and did not want her to pick up on how much he wanted to pace. The Void knew she'd worried about him enough today.

Curnow brought some leftover dishes into the kitchen and wiped the dining table again, then straightened a small painting on the wall. He took out a case of cigars, staring at it for a few minutes, then disappeared briefly out the front door. 

When he came back in, he wore a sheepish expression and trailed the faint smell of smoke. 

"I _told_ you not to smoke in the stairwell!" Attano said to him, accusing. "Now Mr. Abernathy will be on my case again because he thinks you Gristolians are too elegant and refined to smoke at all..."

"Don't worry, I'll protect you from his ire," Curnow said. He reached out to brush his knuckles against Attano's cheek as he passed, a slightly condescending gesture of affection.

Attano ducked half-heartedly out of the way. He didn't look too incensed. "But you won't own up to your smoking?"

"Of course not," Curnow said. He put away his cigars and dusted off his hands; he looked somewhat calmer than he had been. "If Mr. Abernathy knew the real culprit, I wouldn't get to protect you, now would I?"

For a moment, Attano stared at him out of narrowed eyes, opening and closing his mouth as he tried and discarded several snappy retorts. "Watch yourself," he said at last. "I know where you sleep."

Curnow shrugged, unconcerned. "If you get our bed bloody, I'm not changing the sheets."

Jessamine looked between them, frowning doubtfully, but held back any comment she might have made.

She sat down beside Geoff, the couch sinking under her weight. She exchanged a brief glance with Corvo, then folded her hands tightly in her lap, and they all listened to the clock tick, with the occasional brief, tense scatter of conversation between the silences.

The windows rattled in their frames. Sand spattered against the glass. "It's so _loud,"_ Emily said several times, whispering like the storm might hear her. Corvo kept a careful eye on her, but she didn't quite look frightened; she craned her neck to see out of the windows, though she didn't seem eager to run up to them and look out.

She did clutch at his shoulder though, using him for support to stand up. Her feet dug deep into the cushions as she tried to stand on her tiptoes to get a better look at the howling dark outside.

Jessamine, who'd been dozing a little, twitched and woke. "Shoes off the couch!" she said, before she'd quite opened her eyes, then gave her daughter a reproachful look. "Emily, _really."_

"Oh, leave her to it," Attano said, waving off Jessamine's protests. "That couch has seen far worse."

The clock struck one in the morning. Twenty minutes later, Geoff yelped and flinched upright. 

He patted at his chest, gasping, then hunched over with a grimace of pain. The front of his shirt tore under his wavering grip. The bandages still hid the wound, but even through the lengths of fabric, Corvo saw that the sigil was glowing.

"Fucking finally!" Attano said, sitting up. He reached for the torn flap on Geoff's shirt, but Geoff winced away from him with a low moan of pain.

Sweat beaded on his rapidly paling forehead. He croaked, "What's..."

A distant ringing filled the room. It seemed to come from everywhere at once. The rune on the table emitted another cloud of its strange black smoke. The whalebone looked whiter than it had before, the black mark standing out in stark relief.

By the bathroom door, the dresser began to rattle. Glassware clinked inside. The windows clattered in their frames, not just from the storm. Dust trickled from the ceiling. Emily cringed against Corvo's side, wide-eyed and scared.

"Lay it bare," Attano instructed, trying to reach for Geoff. "Get the bandages off, c'mon--"

Geoff was panting like he'd ran up several flights of stairs. He locked eyes with Corvo for a moment. On his other side, Jessamine held his shirt out of the way as he pulled weakly at the bandages around his chest and finally managed to expose the wound. 

It was bleeding again, scabs cracked and blood welling. Blood slid down his stomach, sticking to the trail of hair that led down into his trousers.

Geoff stumbled to his feet. So did Corvo, and Emily clung to his arm, hiding her face against his side. Geoff's face was rapidly regaining color--it was like now that the mark on his chest was laid bare, it'd ceased to hurt him.

"What--" He coughed, and held his hands out stiffly, like he was afraid to touch the sigil lest he trigger some sort of arcane reaction. His wild gaze found Attano. "What now?"

"Touch the rune," Attano instructed, "and think of Callista. Think of her as hard as you can!"

Wind whipped around the room, rattling the dresser and the shelves and sending several of the thinner books clattering to the floor. Corvo's palm itched to feel the reassuring weight of the hilt of his sword, but this wasn't something that could be fought. He kept one hand firmly on Emily's shoulder and steered her around the table, keeping himself between her and the rune.

"Oh," Curnow said softly, baffled, a pinpoint of calm in the room. He looked at Attano. "Did you think of me when you were pulled back here?"

Attano waved that impatiently away. "No, but better be safe than sorry!"

Curnow scowled instantly. "What do you mean, _no?"_

"There was no time!"

Jessamine had backed away from Geoff. "Emily, come here," she ordered, but Emily was already on her way, darting over to her mother. Corvo fought against the wind to follow her until he could wrap an arm around Jessamine's waist. Emily shrunk between them, and Corvo breathed a little easier once she was thoroughly surrounded.

Geoff held his hand out to the rune, a half-grimace of effort on his face. The arcane wind whipped his hair back and began to dry the blood on his chest. The ringing grew louder, filling Corvo's ears, and he realized it was not quite the clear noise he'd thought it was--there was a hoarse, grinding note to it, like old cogs turning.

"Wait, wait!" Geoff called over the noise. He tried to look at Attano, squinting against the wind. "Will it just--? When I touch it, it'll--"

"For fuck's sake!" Attano said, grabbed Geoff by the wrist, and slapped his hand onto the artifact.

For a moment they all stared at the rune. Then it shone brighter, shuddering like a living thing, and light bled out of Geoff's wounds, an unearthly glow turned pinkish around the edges of the cuts where blood still leaked. 

Curnow lightly slapped the back of Attano's head. "You inconsiderate ass!" he snapped. "It hasn't occurred to you that they might want to say goodbye?!"

Attano's wide-eyed, wounded look changed into a grimace of contrition. "Oh," he said. "Yeah. Shit."

Emily stood with her cheek pressed to Jessamine's chest. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, staring at the window, and her hold on Corvo's wrist was tight and unforgiving.

Corvo followed her gaze, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The dust storm outside had _stopped._ A few leaves were halted in mid-air, suspended. Tree branches that'd bent into the wind were frozen in place, like time itself had ground to a halt, and even the fine gravel that hurtled against the window was still and silent. 

Geoff picked up the rune. It lit him in an unearthly glow, and he winced when he touched it, though he didn't let go.

A vase rattled itself off the dresser, falling with a strangely muffled thump and rolling away. The air grew thin and warm, the light fading. The shadows grew deep and pitch black, and the rune's glow was all the brighter in the sudden gloom.

Corvo felt a sucking pressure all around himself, tugging on his coat and sword, the pull of what he thought was Dunwall calling them back.

"Thank you for everything!" Jessamine called over the din. Loose strands of hair whipped around her face.

"You're welcome!" Curnow yelled back. "Be careful around your court--"

"Yeah!" Attano said. The shadows did strange things to his scar, making it look deeper and more pitted than it was, like a lengthened crater in his face. "It's not over yet. There's still sharks in the water in your realm!"

Jessamine laughed, high-pitched and a little unhinged. The sound was torn from her mouth immediately by the wind. "You think I don't know that?!"

Attano grimaced. The wind whipped the laces of his shirt into his face. "Sorry, I didn't mean--"

Curnow elbowed him. "Safe travels!" he shouted, and the wind carried the scent of Geoff's blood and something else, something charged and earthy and arcane, older than the trees whose wood had built this floor, older than the very bricks of the building.

Then Geoff stood with their little group. His face was white with fear, but his mouth formed a thin line of determination. The blood that slicked his chest was the only vibrantly colorful thing in the room--all the other colors looked faded and worn, like a sepia-colored underpainting had gone under everything, but his blood was bright, vibrant red.

The room tilted and swam. The rune seemed to shiver, blurring at the edges. Even the black marking faded into a colorless blob. Corvo's vision went mottled gray at the edges, then plummeted abruptly into black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *skateboards in 25 days late, without Starbucks* Happy new year! Let's hope it'll be better than 2020. Here's a new chapter--back to Dunwall, as promised, and I gotta say I'm very excited for what's still to come before this fic ends!
> 
> As always, many heartfelt thanks to those reading along, commenting, leaving kudos, and asking about this fic on Tumblr. Y'all sustain me. <3

The first thing Corvo noticed was the smell of blown-out candles.

It coated his nostrils, filling them with the scent of hot wax. Smoke had risen from the extinguished wicks. The back of his throat tasted like ash. 

Corvo groaned quietly. His ears rang. Somebody moved around in the dark-- _was_ it dark? Had he opened his eyes? He blinked, and realized he was looking up at the faint shape of a window, outlined in the pale glow of moonlight coming through clouds.

There was a click, then the whoosh of a lamp igniting. Light seared his eyes and produced a stab of agony deep in his head, and he squeezed them shut hastily, colorful stars bursting behind his closed lids. 

A shocked gasp came from somewhere. A female voice, pitched high with surprise: "Uncle?!"

Corvo floated for a moment, unsure and drowsy. Then memory hit him, and he yanked himself fully back into consciousness. He staggered to his feet and pointed his pistol at the threat--

Who was only a young woman in her nightgown, a smeared blob of pink and white, who squeaked and stumbled back against the door, nearly dropping her whale oil lamp.

Corvo stared at her, blinking hard to encourage his vision to focus. Everything was blurred, resolving slowly into a familiar dining room, somewhat cramped and dusty, with wilted flowers in a vase by the window...

Then the scent of burning whale oil wafted over to him. Corvo gagged, his stomach turning. His temples throbbed painfully in time with his heartbeat. He took a wavering step back.

Geoff Curnow groaned. He rolled over slowly. He'd landed face down, and his bleeding chest had left a dark smear on the floor. In the cold, flickering light, it looked nearly black.

"Uncle!" the young woman said again. She looked desperately at Corvo and, when he made no move to stop her, darted to Geoff's side.

A name came to him, floating out of his lingering drowsy confusion. Callista. This was Geoff's niece, probably roused from sleep by the ruckus, barefoot and disheveled as she leaned over her uncle and dabbed at the blood on his chest...

Emily and Jessamine had fallen in a heap. Jessamine lay sprawled on her back, her head inches from the legs of a chair--it was a miracle she hadn't hit it on her way down. One hand lay curled by her cheek, almost as though she was asleep. Her fingers twitched weakly as she began to wake.

Emily pushed impatiently at her mother's mostly limp form. Finally she managed to worm out from under her, with a dry ripping sound of fabric giving way.

Jessamine's lids fluttered, then she opened her eyes. She didn't flinch or cringe with a sudden onset of pain; she just looked up at Emily, confused, then started to frown when she saw that the shoulder seam of her white blouse was torn nearly down to her armpit.

Corvo held his breath, listening hard, willing his racing pulse to calm. No noise came from out in the street, nor from the stairwell. The house was quiet, the skies outside cloudy. No City Watch soldiers broke down the door, and no assassin sent by the Spymaster launched himself through a window.

He put his pistol on the dining table. He wanted to rush to Jessamine's side, touch Emily's shoulder to assure himself she was unharmed... instead, he sucked in a deep breath, then went to help Callista.

They got Geoff sitting up and leaning against a bookshelf. It was probably Corvo's imagination, but Geoff looked-- old. Like he'd aged a few years during the jump from one dimension to another. His skin was sallow, the bags under his eyes dark and bruised-looking. 

"Uncle, what _happened?"_ Callista demanded. She'd put a hand on Geoff's shoulder, ostensibly to steady him, but her fingers were clutching tightly at his shirt. "Where have you been? Should I call for a doctor?"

Geoff shook his head. His face was damp with sweat. "No," he croaked. "No doctor. I'm fine."

"But--" Callista began, dismayed.

Geoff's red-rimmed eyes found Jessamine, who'd crouched down by his other side. Emily knelt beside her. A moth had flown in through the half-open window, drawn by the light, and was now fascinated with her white clothing.

Geoff's gaze slid over to Corvo. A propos of nothing, he said hoarsely, "I wonder why he-- the other you-- why he didn't bleed when he got here."

 _'He did,'_ Corvo corrected. _'It'd subsided by the time you met him.'_

Thinking back to the sunny day in the gazebo felt unhinged, distanced, almost unbelievable. It was hard to trust his senses that all of that had even happened--another Corvo Attano, dropping out of the sky, saving them all, and then inadvertently dragging them across time and space into his home...

He exchanged a look with Jessamine over Geoff's bent head. There was a furrow of worry between her brows.

Geoff grunted. "He must be hardier than I am, then."

"Or he had more time to prepare for his travels," Jessamine corrected. She patted Geoff's shoulder in awkward camaraderie.

Callista was looking between them, her mouth half-open. She didn't seem to realize just who was speaking to her uncle. Corvo couldn't blame her. If a group of people had materialized out of thin air in his home, he would have been first of all concerned with how they'd gotten in, not their exact names and identities.

Geoff tried to sit up a little, flinching. _"Fuck,_ that hurts--" He broke off, glancing guiltily at Emily, but she wasn't paying attention to him. 

She seemed wholly fascinated with Callista's presence. She'd hardly taken her eyes off her since she'd crawled out from under Jessamine. The moth fluttered by her collar, bumping its silent, powdery wings against the pale fabric, but Emily didn't seem to notice.

A minute later, Geoff was sitting cross-legged, more or less upright. Some color returned to his cheeks. The cool light of Callista's lamp darkened the blood down his front to almost-black, but the wound seemed to be scabbing over already.

This time it was Jessamine who felt ill. As soon as Geoff looked better, she scooted away from him, leaned over and put her head between her knees, groaning.

Her shoulder, when Corvo touched it with careful fingertips, was tense. The fabric of Curnow's shirt was soft under his hand. Even while she was pale with nausea, it reassured him to feel her warm skin through the thin barrier. 

Corvo felt only a little dizzy; Emily didn't seem affected at all by their recent... travels. "Callista, dear," Geoff said. His voice got stronger with every word. "Could I persuade you to make some tea?"

It was when Callista rummaged around in the kitchen, porcelain clinking and kettle clanging, that Jessamine whispered, "I forgot my blouse."

She was pale, leaning unabashedly against Corvo's shoulder. The moth had abandoned Emily in favor of her mother; Curnow's shirt was white too, and the big wings brushed gently against Jessamine's other shoulder. Jessamine's eyes were watery with discomfort. She had one hand protectively covering her stomach.

Emily stood in the doorway to the kitchen. She'd half-hidden herself behind the wooden frame. It was not like she'd never seen anyone make tea, but she was watching Callista as carefully as if this was her only chance to observe the ages-old ritual. She stared hard at Callista's hands, following each of her movements without blinking.

Geoff chuckled, then winced when a too-deep breath pulled on the bloodied mark on his chest. "Do you suppose Attano will travel here again to give it back?"

Jessamine snorted. "I hope not." She paused. "Though I wouldn't put it past him..."

"Neither would I," Geoff said with a faint smile. He had the glazed look of someone who'd been through a great ordeal, who found himself tiredly talkative now that the danger had passed. "He seemed like the type to go on dangerous and near-pointless excursions just to have a nice story to tell around a campfire somewhere..."

Callista came back with the tea. The tray wavered a little in her hands, but to her credit, the cups didn't clatter together. She placed it on the dining table and used its weight to push some of the clutter out of the way, then handed out cups.

The teapot was old and slightly chipped, the glaze on the porcelain bleached by age and the wear and tear of daily use. But the stream of chamomile tea that the spout poured into Corvo's cup was golden and fragrant.

A few careful sips were enough to settle Jessamine's stomach. She sat up straighter and downed the rest of the cup with two decisive gulps. A moment later, she was able to push herself off of Corvo's shoulder, no longer needing the support. His arm felt oddly cool where her weight had pressed against him.

Callista had sat back down by her uncle's side; so far, she had not questioned why they were all foregoing the chairs. She eyed Corvo warily. Corvo glanced up at the table and realized that Callista had used the tray to push his pistol further out of his reach.

He suppressed a small smile. Though he wished he could've apologized to her in a way she understood, he did admire her craftiness.

Emily sat on Jessamine's other side, her dark eyes lingering on Callista's hands, which fidgeted nervously in her lap, toying with some folds of her nightgown. There was still something wary about her. Still, it was a long minute before she finally asked, "Who are you?"

"Callista Curnow," Callista said automatically. "I-- oh!" 

Finally, realization dawned on her young face. Her hands came up to cover her mouth. She looked from Jessamine to Emily, wide-eyed and startled. "You're..."

"You are Captain Curnow's niece?" Emily pressed.

"Yes..." Callista breathed. Her incredulous gaze was fixed on Jessamine. 

"Oh, good," Emily said. She smiled and sighed, suddenly looking much more relaxed. "Then it makes sense that you didn't poison our tea."

That yanked Callista's focus away from the Empress of the Isles sitting on her dining room floor. "I... what?"

"The tea," Emily repeated patiently, gesturing at the still steaming pot. "You didn't tamper with it."

So that was why Emily's eyes had followed her every move as she'd clattered around in the kitchen. Corvo let out his breath slowly, hiding a wince, and pushed away a bloom of pride. His daughter was clever and observant, yes, but he still wished she didn't have to be.

"Of course not!" Callista protested. Her voice firmed with a measure of indignation. "You... you're..."

"That's my mother, and that's Corvo," Emily said politely, pointing first at Jessamine, then at him. "And I'm Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin," and she held out her hand.

Callista stared at it. Corvo tamped down on a misplaced smile. It was lucky that Emily's wrinkled, gray-haired etiquette tutor was not here to witness this. He would wail that the heiress to an Empire was not to shake a commoner's _hand,_ for the Void's sake, had Emily learned nothing under his tutelage?

"Oh, wait," Emily said. She stood, dusting off her dirty trousers, and tugged at her torn sleeve, pulling it back into place as best as she could. Then she fixed Callista with an expectant look. 

"You may bow now," she prompted, when Callista didn't move.

"Oh! Sorry," Callista said, somewhat harried. 

She scrambled to her feet and bowed. Her loose bun threatened to fall in a cascade of blond hair. She grabbed hold of it and pushed it off her shoulder, and when she straightened up again, her face was pink with embarrassment.

"It's alright," Emily said magnanimously, waving away her apology. "It's been a strange night."

Jessamine snorted. It'd been some time since she had been introduced to one of her subjects in such an undignified way, but she didn't seem to mind. She smiled at her daughter with fond amusement, and Corvo belatedly realized that she was leaning against him once more--surreptitiously, now, the press of their arms hidden behind a fold of Curnow's oversized shirt.

Corvo pressed back against her, just slightly. A strange night--well, yes. That was one way to put it.

***

There was something to be said, Corvo thought half an hour later, about the economies of Gristol and Serkonos. With the solid salary of a high-ranking soldier, Attano was able to afford a large apartment in Karnaca; but though the City Watch paid Geoff at least as well, his and Callista's living quarters were more cramped.

Economists and politicians probably could have explained to him exactly why that was, and which historical circumstances had led to Dunwall becoming a much more expensive city to live in than Karnaca. Maybe, one day far from now, Corvo would look through the Tower's library in search of answers.

Either way, there weren't as many beds. The Geoff Curnow of this realm had no guest bedroom--a circumstance that prompted a lengthy discussion on the sleeping arrangements, drawn out by what Corvo felt was an unnecessary amount of stubbornness on all sides.

First, Geoff told Jessamine to take his bed. Jessamine protested that he was injured, and they didn't have to stay, they could just go back to the Tower, they'd hail some City Watch soldiers as an escort...

"No!" Callista exclaimed instantly, her eyes wide with fear. She darted to the door that led into the hallway, blocking it with her lithe form. "You cannot go out! The Lord Regent has instated a curfew--"

"The _Lord Regent?"_ Jessamine repeated, affronted.

"The City Watch is looking for you!" Callista said to Corvo, anxiously. "They'll kill you on sight..."

Jessamine frowned. She opened her mouth, but Callista's precarious bun chose that moment to fall. A few hairpins clattered onto the floor, and Callista yelped, clutched at her rapidly unrolling hair, and fled towards the bathroom.

"Callista," Geoff said carefully, a minute later when they were all seated around the dining table, "perhaps you should give us a short summary of what has happened here in the past few days. We've been... away."

Callista nodded. She'd put on a morning robe over her nightgown. A neat braid hung down her back. Two spots of color burned on her cheeks, but other than that, she gave no sign that her hair had just come undone in front of the Empress of the Isles.

"There's lots of confusion still, but the official word is that the Empress was murdered and Lady Emily abducted," she said. "Burrows is trying to turn our Parliament to his favor... it's not safe for you to go out now. There's a curfew. The City Watch shoots everyone on sight..."

Corvo only half-listened. He was more occupied with looking at his pistol, which still lay on the table, pushed aside by the tray. He would've taken and holstered it, but he didn't want to spook Geoff's niece by reaching for the weapon he'd threatened her with. 

But it did lie rather close to where Emily was sitting, and she was always curious about his weapons, complaining that he never let her look at them...

"They _what?!"_ Jessamine snarled. She leaned halfway across the table, her eyes flashing with indignant disbelief. "That cannot be. _Surely_ you misunderstood. The upholders of a curfew should only detain and question those that break it!"

Emily didn't seem eager to make a grab for the pistol, though. She sat slumped in her chair, propping her chin up with the heel of her hand. She'd yawned twice, and though her dark eyes were still attentive, she did look tired--much too tired for weapon-related antics.

"I've heard gunfire and shouting," Callista said quietly. "And word on the street is that the City Watch has been authorized to use lethal force..."

Jessamine balled both hands into fists on the table. Her nostrils flared. For a moment she struggled with her composure, then said curtly, "Continue."

Callista hesitated, quailing a little under her steely look. "The Lord Regent said it's for the best," she ventured with some reluctance, not too eager to defend the man's actions. "The, the Empress' murderer is still at large..."

Emily looked worried now. Anxiety chased away some of her tiredness, and she sat up straighter, her hands fidgeting just below the edge of the table. From the wrinkles that appeared in the collar of her blouse, Corvo guessed she was once again pulling at her much-abused buttons.

"Mommy, I don't want to go out," she spoke up, interrupting Callista's faltering account of how many of her friends had reported undue brutality from the Watch. "I don't want to get shot at."

The table fell silent. Everyone looked at her, but Emily didn't seem to notice. She looked imploringly at Jessamine and said, "Please, can we stay?"

And that was that, really. Of the two of them, Jessamine was the sterner parent, but she would not deny Emily a plea for safety. They would take advantage of the Curnow family's hospitality tonight, and regroup and think about what to do tomorrow.

Geoff had offered his bed again. Jessamine declined again, with that mulish look that Corvo knew well. She stated that the couch in the small drawing room would suffice, and Callista exclaimed that it was _much_ too short to be slept on, which got her another irritated look from the Empress.

"You could take my bed," Callista said, her voice growing quieter and finally shrinking to a whisper, "your majesty..."

Jessamine scowled at her. "And where will you sleep, then?"

Callista straightened her spine, some of her courage returning. "In Uncle's bed," she answered, after a brief glance at Geoff which received back an exhausted nod. "I want to keep an eye on him anyway."

"I'm alright," Geoff muttered, but not too loudly.

Jessamine pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine," she said, sighing. "...Thank you."

It turned out Callista's bed was a family heirloom. It dominated her small room, a queen-sized bed with a dusty, faded canopy of fabric stretched above. The cloth must've once been blue, but age and sunlight had faded it to gray. The sheets were still rumpled from Callista's interrupted sleep. 

The curtains were drawn to keep out the night. A lamp hung from the ceiling, but it didn't seem to be in working order. A cupboard and a bookshelf lined the walls. Several candles burned on a narrow table that Callista appeared to be using for writing; it was piled with books and paper, and a high-backed wooden chair stood before it.

"That chair isn't very comfortable," Callista said to Corvo, apologetic. "Perhaps I could bring in one from the drawing room..."

Jessamine had made a beeline for the bed. For all her earlier reluctance, exhaustion was pulling on her too, erasing any qualms she might have had about sleeping on sheets sheets that were still warm from their usual occupant. She leaned down to touch the woollen blanket that lay folded at the foot, making a small, approving hum.

"Thank you," she said now, her fingertips still brushing the blanket. "That won't be necessary."

Callista blinked at her in surprise. Corvo's heart clenched, and he struggled to hold down a surge of panic--yes, he understood that Jessamine was tired, but had she forgotten that Callista did not know about their relationship? 

Geoff was leaning against the wall outside. Walking had tired him a little, but he caught Corvo's alarmed look and gave him a tiny nod.

"Callista," he said calmly, "just leave them to it. It's late, and we're all tired. They'll get another chair if they need one. --Make yourselves at home," he said to Jessamine, with a small smile.

Corvo let out a sigh. He felt an odd stab of missing the Geoff Curnow from the other dimension, who'd said the same thing to him, less exhausted but just as sincere. 

(What might he and Attano be doing now? Tidying up their drawing room, probably; picking up the fallen vase, sweeping up some of the dust that'd trickled from the ceiling... Perhaps Curnow would change the sheets in the guest bedroom. It was likely they were asleep, tired out from the tumultuous events that'd befallen them...)

"Well, um," Callista said to Jessamine, "good night..."

"Good night," Jessamine replied, inclining her head with a reserved smile. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Callista nodded and smiled back, the tips of her ears blushing red. She backed out of the room, starting to close the door, and said over her shoulder to Geoff, "Uncle, wait for me in the bathroom. I'll get some soap."

"I'm _fine,"_ Geoff said again, mulishly.

The door clicked shut. "You may be, but that shirt is not," Callista said, her footsteps retreating down the hallway as her voice faded too. "We have to rinse out the blood..."

A great exhaustion descended on Corvo. He'd meant to go over to the chair--Emily and Jessamine both needed rest, and he would not take the bed from them--but now his feet stumbled towards the bed instead. His knees gave way, and he dropped heavily to sit at the edge of the mattress. 

His temples pulsed with a dizzying ache. He felt not unlike a bathtub whose drain had been abruptly pulled out, the last of his strength gurgling away.

He placed his pistol on the nightstand, then stared at it blearily. Something about that was jarring, wrong... the weapon sat in between a pile of hairpins and a dog-eared book...

Emily was standing by the window, peering out from behind the curtains. She seemed to have caught her second wind, or perhaps some arcane force had lifted the tiredness from her shoulders and dropped it onto Corvo's instead, compounding his fatigue.

"Mother, there's soldiers in the street!" she whispered. When she turned back to the room, the thin moonlight illuminated the side of her face, glinting in her eye.

"Emily, please come away from the window," Jessamine said, still gentle but with some firmness underneath.

"They'll miss if they try to shoot me," Emily said, though she obeyed and stepped back. "The angle is all wrong..."

Her voice swam past Corvo like a burbling mountain creek. His eyelids felt leaden, weighed down. He blinked slowly, and wondered if he was about to just topple sideways and pass out before his head hit the pillow. 

He _couldn't_ sleep yet, though. He had to keep Emily and Jessamine safe, who were both probably just as tired as him, if not more... 

He had to patrol the apartment, make sure all the windows were shut. In a moment, he'd go and search the stairwell for anyone who might be hiding there... He stared down at his thighs, which did not move, and tried to command himself to get up.

The mattress sank under him. Then Jessamine pulled gently on his shoulder, turning him sideways. 

Corvo should've signed at her not to bother, that he'd get up in a moment and stand watch, that she and Emily needed rest. Instead he just made a questioning noise in the back of his throat.

"Shh," Jessamine said softly. She had both hands on his shoulders now, coaxing. "It's alright. Just let me..."

Then his head was somehow on the pillow, and he lay on his back, gravity pressing him into the mattress. The scent of cheap laundry soap drifted up from the sheets, and the pillow smelled faintly of what had to be Callista's perfume. It was disorienting, and he wanted to squirm with the discomfort of being somewhere he wasn't meant to be--a strange woman's bed, with her scent in his nose...

\--And his boots, getting her sheets dirty. He groaned under his breath, struggling against the weight that pulled on his limbs. How had his legs gotten up on the bed? Had he fallen asleep briefly while moving?

He'd intended to keep his sword strapped to his waist, his boots on, just in case anyone attacked them overnight, though he didn't want to soil Callista's bed with Karnacan dust. But what if someone came, and he'd have to defend Jessamine and Emily's lives in socked feet...

He lay there, trying to force a coherent thought through the fog, when Emily, suddenly much closer, said, "Corvo, your shoes!"

Corvo flinched hard. Her voice pierced his eardrums, jolting him back awake, his breath scraping his throat in a half-snore. He hadn't realized how far he'd dropped towards sleep.

He tried to sit up, stirring weakly, and was stopped by Jessamine's hand on his chest. Even though his thick coat, her palm was warm. "We've got you," Jessamine said, so close that her breath puffed against his stubbled cheek.

Someone unlaced and pulled off his boots. Corvo twitched a little when hands touched his belt, but then the end of Jessamine's braid dropped softly against his chest and he relaxed again. She undid his belt and slid his sword off it, and propped it up against something with a muffled clank.

Emily whispered something, and Jessamine replied in kind. The low, mingling murmur of their voices pushed Corvo over the edge. He was asleep almost before his eyes fell shut.

***

> _**Empress' Murderer Still At Large! No Trace of Lady Emily!** _
> 
> _20th Day, Month of Earth, 1837. -- Our fair Empress' murder happened barely two days ago, and the city of Dunwall is still in an uproar._
> 
> _Heaps of condolence letters have been sent to Dunwall Tower, with many lords, counts, and barons across the Isles expressing their shock and disbelief at Jessamine Kaldwin's violent death. Many citizens have taken to leaving flowers, candles, and other offerings along Wrenhaven Avenue in the Estate District. Once a bustling promenade along the waterfront, the street bordering the back of the Tower now smells of flowers and melted wax._
> 
> _Meanwhile, the search for the infamous traitor to the crown who murdered our Empress continues. Rumor has it that the assassin used black magic in his gruesome deed, and squadrons of Overseers are now lending their aid and counsel to the patrolling soldiers._
> 
> _"We must uncover the assassin's whereabouts as soon as possible!" High Overseer Campbell insisted during a brief interview at the Abbey of the Everyman, whose windows were draped in black for mourning. "Her majesty's spirit will find no rest until the scoundrel is brought to justice."_
> 
> _He went on to say that a contingent of his most devout Overseers prays daily for Lady Emily's safety, hoping that their well-wishes reach her in whatever Void-forsaken part of the city she is being held._
> 
> _Hiram Burrows, the Lord Regent, has seized control of the City Watch in an attempt to becalm the tumult in our city. He has introduced a much-discussed curfew through all districts of Dunwall, from 7 o'clock in the evening to 8 in the morning. So far, he has denied persistent rumors that he has ordered the City Watch to kill anyone seen outside at night._
> 
> _Yesterday, word reached our office that an oddly large number of Dunwall Tower's staff had been fired following the Empress' death. When asked about the circumstances of their terminated employment, not one servant, parlor maid, or butler was willing to discuss it with our reporters. They all appeared frightened._
> 
> _Some made attempts to resist their treatment, though. One irate gardener was heard shouting, "Long live the Empress! She's not dead!" as he was escorted to Coldridge Prison in chains. Another gardener is rumored to have met his death that day, digging up a bed of flowers close to the gazebo where the assassin struck. The gardener was shot by a soldier in the confusion, though whether the soldier mistook him for a threat in the aftermath of Jessamine Kaldwin's murder has not been confirmed._
> 
> _Lady Emily's whereabouts are still unknown. The Lord Regent assures us that his soldiers are searching every nook and cranny for her kidnapper, and hope to return her safely to the Tower. Anton Sokolov, along with a number of other physicians, is on standby to treat any injuries she might have sustained during her ordeal._
> 
> _"How dreadful a thing for a child to endure," Hiram Burrows said, "watching her mother's murder at the hands of one she trusted... I can only hope that Lady Emily's mind will be intact when we find her."_
> 
> _The assassin's vile countenance graces posters all across the city. The Lord Regent has offered a reward of 30,000 coins for any information that leads to his capture. Citizens are strongly advised not to approach him, as he is dangerous and unpredictable. Having worked closely with the City Watch in the past, he likely has inside information that has aided his escape..._

Jessamine slammed the newspaper down on the table. "Outsiders shriveled, malformed, hairy--"

Callista choked on her tea. She erupted into coughing, drowning out the rest of Jessamine's curse. Her face reddened, then Geoff was at her side, patting her on the back. 

Corvo couldn't blame Jessamine for swearing, really. He had read along over her shoulder. Citizens being shot at in the streets, just for breaking curfew? A large amount of Tower staff fired? What in the Void did Burrows think he was doing?

He'd spotted his name further down the page, but hadn't gotten to it yet when Jessamine's hold on her temper snapped. He was almost grateful; he knew what the article would have to say about him. In the crucial moments he'd been utterly useless, failing to protect those whose lives he'd sworn to guard...

Callista waved off her uncle, her coughs subsiding. She wheezed and drank more tea to soothe her raw throat.

On Jessamine's other side, Emily frowned. She'd sneaked close and craned her neck, reading along as well, and when Corvo had given her a quelling look she'd jutted out her chin at him and stayed right where she was.

"But I'm here," she said now. "Not kidnapped, or hurt. Why did that nasty Spymaster say I was gone?" 

Jessamine flinched. _"Emily,"_ she scolded, harsher than usual. "What have I told you about reading over my shoulder?!"

"That it's rude and I shouldn't do it," Emily replied, unfazed by her mother's ire. "But I saw my name!" She met Jessamine's scowl with dark, determined eyes. "I couldn't just ignore that!"

Jessamine pressed her lips into a thin line. She glanced at Corvo, then folded the paper in half. He saw his name disappear on the other side, then Jessamine held out the paper to Emily. "Fine," she said curtly. "Read until the fold. No further." 

Emily grabbed the paper, then took a large step out of Jessamine's reach, and read. It seemed like she was done within seconds, her gaze all but flying across the printed lines. A misplaced stir of pride rose in Corvo. Her reading skills were well-honed, all her tutors said so, though she mostly enjoyed stories and fairytales, and hadn't shown much interest in newspapers before...

"But I'm here," Emily said again, handing the paper back. Jessamine folded it lengthwise and hid it in her lap, sneaking another odd look at Corvo. "And Burrows is the one who hired those assassins, so he must've known that they--"

Emily wavered. Her composure cracked. She took a shaky breath, and for a second Corvo thought she would burst into tears, with the abruptness of a child who had been under intense stress for days... But then she said, forcing herself through a stutter, "He must've known that they t-took me to the Flooded District!"

"Emily..." Jessamine said, her face softening with compassion. She held out her hand, but Emily folded her arms across her chest and bit her trembling lower lip, shying away from the offered comfort.

"Your majesty," Callista suddenly spoke up. She was hoarse from coughing, but her gaze was steady. "If I may..." 

Jessamine waved at her to continue, not taking her eyes off her daughter. Callista spoke to Emily. "My lady," she said, in an assured voice that made Corvo think of the tutors at the Tower, "I believe Burrows is trying to stall for time." 

Emily sniffled. She eyed Callista curiously, but calmed a little. The tense hunch of her shoulders loosened. "What?"

"He's lost you," Callista explained, "so he cannot present you to the mourning court like he wishes. The assassins must have sent word to him by now that you were freed..."

"They're all dead, though," Emily pointed out. She wiped her nose and stood up straighter, pursing her lips as she thought about what Callista had said. "Corvo killed them. --And the other Corvo," she added hastily, with a wide-eyed, apologetic look at him. "And Captain Curnow, too!"

Corvo's heart sank, dropping like a stone into his stomach. A hot rush of shame tightened his throat. He hadn't realized Emily had seen some of the carnage they'd left behind in the Flooded District.

At the time, he hadn't thought about shielding her from the death they'd wrought. He'd been weak-kneed with relief, every beat of his heart sending a fresh rush of it through him--Emily was _safe,_ scared but unhurt; her eyes were red from crying, but still alert, not glazed and vacant from the terror she'd endured...

He'd been a fool. He hadn't looked at any of the windows they'd passed, and paid no attention to what Emily might have spotted through them...

His daughter stared at him, pleading. Her gaze flickered across his face, contrite and searching, as though Corvo was the one who'd seen things he should not have had to see. She'd raised one hand like she wanted to comfort him.

Corvo swallowed hard against his too-tight throat. How was he ever to blot out from Emily's mind the image of limp, fallen bodies? Had she seen any blood down in the streets--or, Void forbid, the Whaler who'd been decapitated by Attano, whose head had rolled into some ditch?

 _'Some may have survived,'_ he signed. His hands seemed to form into loose fists on their own, thumbs pointing outwards as they rose. _'We cannot know how many of them there were in total.'_

"Some may have survived," Geoff said promptly, translating for his niece. Corvo had almost forgotten his presence. "There could've been more lackeys we didn't see. We were transported to Karnaca too quickly to clear out the whole hide-out."

Callista nodded. She didn't ask about Karnaca; Geoff had likely already filled her in on the details. This morning, the Curnows had been the first ones awake, brewing tea and baking fluffy biscuits and setting out jars of jam long before Corvo had stumbled into the kitchen, blinking into the harsh late-morning light and trying to finger-comb the worst tangles out of his hair.

"Well, it is likely Burrows knows you've escaped," Callista repeated, speaking again to Emily. "He's stalling until he can recover you, and once he does, he'll put you on the throne. Or perhaps he'll extend his regency, claiming that you are too fragile to be thrust into a position of power..."

"Why not just kill me?" Emily interrupted. "If he wants to rule the Empire anyway?"

"Emily..." Jessamine said again, a little more urgently. 

Emily shook her head though, hugging herself. She stared at Callista, and her face was almost mask-like, a hard, braced look in her dark eyes that made her look much older than she was.

Callista glanced from Jessamine to Emily and back, licking her lips before speaking. "I think he needs the Kaldwin bloodline to legitimize his position. He probably intended to use you, take advantage of your youth to... influence you."

That was what Attano had implied as well. He'd claimed that Emily's life was safe in Burrows' hands, since he needed her...

That steely thing behind Emily's eyes softened a little. She looked more curious than grave. "Why?"

"The Empire of the Isles would welcome his guidance much more readily if he appears to put you at the helm," Callista explained. "The Kaldwin dynasty is generally well-liked, and you are the legitimate heir to the throne."

"Oh," Emily said.

There was a short silence. Emily looked down at the table, worrying her lip between her teeth. No one else spoke, or even moved. Geoff had folded his hands on the table and was glancing between all of them, calculating. Compared to yesterday, he looked much recovered; his face was no longer chalky pale and sweaty. It was hard to tell through his tunic, but it seemed that he wore only a thin layer of bandages to cover his chest, if any at all.

Finally, Emily huffed and straightened up. She said, "Well, that's stupid."

Jessamine winced. "Emily, don't be rude," she cautioned, shooting Callista an apologetic look.

"No, not _you,"_ Emily said, waving impatiently in Callista's direction. "I meant Burrows. He's dumb as a pile of rocks if he thinks I'd ever let him convince me of anything. He's old and wrinkled and smells like _mothballs."_

Her voice got steadily louder, until it cracked. Corvo eyed her with some trepidation: she wasn't just disgruntled. That was anger, blazing and sudden like fire leaping in an abandoned hearth. 

Emily swept a glare around the table, daring anyone to disagree with her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining a little. The room was utterly silent, though a clock ticked somewhere, and the very apartment itself seemed to hold its breath in the wake of her outburst.

"He's _stupid!"_ Emily repeated. Her chin trembled. Corvo's heart ached. "He tried to k-kill Mother and I'll tell _everyone,_ about all of it! He can't-- he won't twist me. I'll tell everyone that he's a lying, scheming--"

This time, when Jessamine held out her hand, Emily came to her. She went readily into Jessamine's embrace and laid her head on her mother's shoulder, hiding her face in her hair. Corvo heard her sniffle.

Jessamine held her tightly, running her palm down Emily's back. Corvo caught a glimpse of her face through Emily's disheveled hair, and found that she looked-- relieved? The deepening lines around her mouth were gone, and she let out a sigh.

"Thank you, Emily," she said. "You're right. The truth is important, and it _will_ come out."

Emily sniffled again. Then she said, half-muffled by her mother's shoulder, "I want to help."

"And you will," Jessamine said immediately, to Corvo's astonishment—he'd expected her to deflect, insist that Emily stay on the sidelines where she was safe.

She took her daughter by the elbows, pushing her gently back. Emily went without resistance, releasing her tight hold around her mother's neck.

Her eyes and nose were a little red. She was so tall that Jessamine, still seated, had to look up to meet her eyes. For some reason, the hair on the back of Corvo's neck stood on end. He held his breath and waited.

"You remember everything that happened, don't you?" Jessamine asked. "When those men took you?"

Emily wiped her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "Yes."

The sound of her own voice seemed to bolster her. She stood up straighter. She rubbed at her nose with her sleeve, thinking, then added, "He sent the guards away. _All_ of them."

"He did," Geoff put in quietly. "It was most unusual. I told him he wasn't in charge of our duty rosters, but he would not listen..."

Jessamine nodded. She brushed a few strands of hair out of Emily's face, tucking them behind her ear. "And you recall what came after. The other Corvo, and Karnaca."

"Yes," Emily repeated. A small frown appeared between her eyebrows.

Jessamine paused. She tugged Emily's collar back into place, smoothing her fingers over the tear in the fabric.

"You know we cannot tell anyone that it was arcane intervention that saved my life," she said quietly, looking insistently up at her daughter. "If anyone hears about the other realm, the other Karnaca, they will ask how we got back, and then Captain Curnow might get in trouble with the Abbey."

Emily huffed a little, some of her temper rousing again. "I know that, Mother," she replied. "I'm not a little kid."

"That's right," Jessamine said quickly, with a small, apologetic smile, trying not to irritate her further. "That is why, about the gazebo, about Daud, I want you to tell the truth. His red coat, how he appeared out of nowhere, what he looked like..."

Emily opened, then closed her mouth. The memory hovered just below the surface, and it unsettled her, eroding some of the composure she'd gained back. For the first time she broke the strange, compelling eye contact with Jessamine, and looked over her shoulder at Corvo.

Corvo looked back into eyes that were so much like his own. When Emily had just been born, her eyes had been a strangely bright, cornflower blue, and for a while he'd hoped she had inherited her mother's eyes. Instead they'd darkened over the months, and when they finally settled into a familiar dark brown, Jessamine had been utterly delighted.

Emily's gaze flickered across his face, a quick assessment. Corvo wanted to sign something reassuring, but he couldn't think of what, and there was a strange magnetism in his daughter's insistent look that froze his hands anyway.

Whatever Emily had sought in his face, after a moment, she seemed to have found it. She turned back to her mother.

"He hit you," she said. She reached out, but stopped just short of touching Jessamine's fading bruise.

"Yes," Jessamine said simply. She wasn't smiling, exactly, but there was something calm and fiercely proud in her blue eyes. "Whoever asks you, tell them about it. How you were taken to the Flooded District, and how Corvo and Captain Curnow came with me to save you."

"Okay," Emily replied. "I'll... I'll tell them."

She hesitated, then dabbed impatiently at her eyes, which were still a bit watery. Her lip was beginning to jut out in a pout. Something in Corvo's chest released from a painful clench—a disgruntled Emily was far preferable to her being so frightened and angry that she cried.

She fiddled with her sleeves, scowling down at Jessamine's left knee. Her voice had acquired a slight whine when she asked, "But how will that _help?"_

"Well, for one thing, Captain Curnow will have someone to corroborate his word," Jessamine said without missing a beat. "Burrows might insist that the Captain misheard when he sent the guards away, but counting you, there are three of us who will back him up. That's useful."

"Oh," Emily said. "Okay."

She sighed, deflating. Her shoulders slumped abruptly, and Corvo wondered if she felt that same sensation of sudden exhaustion that'd befallen him last night—like a plug holding in his strength had been pulled out.

The room was quiet again. Callista had her hands folded in front of her mouth, her eyes gleaming wetly. Geoff's face was grave and would have looked stern to someone who did not know him, but Corvo spotted his concerned frown.

Emily came over to him. She moved slowly, as though in a daze. She leaned her head against his arm, shrinking a little into into his side. From this angle, Corvo couldn't tell if her eyes were wet or not.

"I'll tell them," she muttered again. He felt her small hand reach for the cuff of his sleeve, and she slipped her fingers into it right where the button was, and began to turn it. 

Corvo looked over at Jessamine, and found her smiling slightly. Their gazes met, and she inclined her head at him, as if to say, _"See? Our daughter is made of sterner stuff than you think."_

He let out a small sigh, smiling ruefully back. It was true that between the two of them, he was the parent more likely to coddle Emily, even when she did not need it.

Even now, Corvo would have liked to hold her, or at the very least comb careful fingers through her disheveled hair. But he got the feeling that she would shake off his touch if he tried to comfort her. 

So he allowed her to twist that single button so tight that the thread creaked. Emily would compose herself, and he had to trust that she knew his arms were right there, ready and waiting in case she could not find calm on her own.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: Jessamine's name sign is the sign for 'black', like her hair, combined with the finger-spelled letter J. My headcanon is that Corvo uses it very sparingly, just like he (imo) would hesitate to address her with such familiarity if he could speak.
> 
> Secondly, I can't believe we're at over 70k words. I mean... when and how did that happen? I just sat here and typed a lot and gave myself feels, and now this is one of my longest-ever fanfics. A massive, heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been reading along & enjoying this story!! It means so much to me that people are entertained by what I'm writing. <3 I'm under some RL stress currently, but I'll hopefully respond to comments soon! (Please know that I treasure each and every one of them.)

The fragile calm lasted all morning. Callista told Emily that she owned several volumes of stories about pirates and seafaring, and would Emily like to take a look at them? It wasn't quite clear whether Jessamine had given Callista a hint, or if it was just luck that she'd happened to mention one of Emily's favorite things. 

The way Emily's face lit up did Corvo some good to see. She allowed Callista to distract her, following her eagerly into her room with its overstuffed bookshelf. Corvo hoped her mind would be well occupied with the stories.

Jessamine declined Geoff's offer of more tea, sequestered herself into a corner of the dining room, and read the article again. With her daughter safely in the other room, she allowed herself several frustrated sighs. It wasn't long before she asked for a sheet of paper and a pencil from Geoff and started writing out notes as she read.

Corvo hated to admit it, but even after a night's rest, he still felt tired. A leaden fatigue that felt mental more than physical pulled on his limbs. He paced the apartment to combat it, looking out of the windows and listening for any noise in the stairwell.

"--always said girls can't be pirates," Emily was saying when he passed by Callista's half-open bedroom door again.

There was a rustle of several pages being turned. "Well," Callista said triumphantly, "my lady, let me tell you about the pirate queen Eliza Dawson, who was known for years as the Scourge of Redmoor Bay..."

"A pirate queen?" Emily repeated, stunned. "But that can't-- here, let me read that..."

More pages rustled. Corvo smiled to himself and continued his slow trek down the hallway.

In the dining room, raised voices greeted him. Jessamine was on her feet, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, not quite shouting at Geoff, but close.

"He is denying my citizens the medical care they need!" she snarled, waving the newspaper at him. It was crumpled up from repeated handling; she must have read it cover to cover. "Seizing their _property,_ with healthy survivors still inside!"

Geoff's hands were half-raised, placating. "I understand your concern, your majesty," he said. "But I really must insist--"

"I don't think you understand!" Jessamine exclaimed. She threw up her hands and turned away, crumpling the paper up and tossing it onto the table. Her fingertips were stained black with printing ink. "He's-- he's doing everything he proposed to me for weeks, treating the poor and the sick like criminals!"

She pointed at the paper. Her braid was half undone, hopelessly tousled, and slightly oily strands of hair hung into her face like she'd been running her hands through it. "This is _inhumane!"_

A ringing silence fell. There was a sheet of paper on the table, densely scribbled with Jessamine's handwriting. Though it was upside down, Corvo identified several names of members of her Parliament; it looked like an expanded version of the list she'd made yesterday morning, in the light of a Karnacan sunrise.

Geoff set his jaw. He didn't seem angry, but there was something unyieldingly stubborn in his blue eyes. "Whether I understand or not," he said, "I cannot let you rush out there without a plan or protection. We only just got back..."

"Let me?" Jessamine interrupted, a dangerous glint in her eyes. _"Let_ me?"

Geoff grimaced. "That came out wrong," he said hurriedly, then cleared his throat. "Your majesty, please think of the still very real danger to your life—and your daughter's. We cannot know at this point who is on Burrows' side and who isn't, and who might have helped him conduct his plot. Going off half-cocked, with no plan, would be foolish."

"Foolish?" Jessamine repeated.

Corvo winced, but Geoff didn't back down. He jutted out his chin and said, "Foolish, your majesty."

For a moment, Jessamine continued to glare at him. Then her eyes softened and she sighed.

"You're right," she said, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "Of course you are."

She smoothed out the newspaper, flattening the pages against the table. The heels of her hands came away stained gray, but she didn't seem to notice.

"I will hold him responsible for this," she said, quieter now. "For the fear he's poured through the streets... for all the sick people he's throwing away like garbage. The families he's evicted from their homes."

She looked up, meeting Corvo's eyes. She didn't seem surprised to see him; she must have registered his presence even in the midst of her tirade. Corvo was hard-pressed not to look away. Her gaze was almost slate gray, burning with a cold fury.

It wasn't often that Corvo saw her like this. When he did, it raised the hair on the back of his neck. Experience had made her level-headed and taught her to play her cards close to her chest. Once in a while, though, something riled her enough for the bright, pure flame of her spirit to burn through her composure.

Jessamine let out a careful breath. She took a step back from the table, her writing in hand. She retreated back into her corner and leafed back to the paper's first page, and bent over her notes, her jaw tightly set.

***

"General Tobias is in on it."

Corvo absorbed the words like blows against his ribs in the sparring ring, tensing his core muscles to bear them. Then he let out his breath in a long, defeated sigh.

The mid-afternoon sun lit up the narrow drawing room, gilding the dusty bookshelves and lingered on the slightly faded wallpaper. Its warmth was not nearly equal to the Karnacan sun they'd all baked under yesterday, but it was still quite warm. Out in the street, the two trees that'd been planted across from the house swayed gently in the wind, oblivious to what was going on in the apartment they'd looked into for so many years.

Corvo nodded at Geoff to continue, trying to tuck away the sting of betrayal. He'd always liked General Tobias, though the man's jovial, boisterous manner often made him feel awkward and out of place. He'd fought an ongoing battle with Corvo's 'virtue,' as he'd called it, and tried to entice him to begin smoking by presenting to him the most expensive and exquisitely spiced cigars he could find...

Of all the people that Corvo could have accused of being in cahoots with Burrows, General Tobias was-- perhaps not the last, but certainly not the first.

Geoff had barely toed off his boots before dragging Corvo into the drawing room to talk. From outside he'd brought the scent of warm summer air and wilting flowers. The smell of burned whale oil clung to his clothing as well--he'd taken a motorized carriage into the Estate District.

"He was all but licking Burrows' boots," Geoff said darkly. "He was falling all over himself to tout the Lord Regent's proficient handling of 'those diseased miscreants'..." 

He shook his head in disgust. "That's what he called those who've caught the plague. Like it was their own fault they got sick."

Jessamine, who was pacing by the window as much as the small room allowed, whirled around to glare at both of them. Her eyes flashed angrily. "General Tobias approved of this?!"

Geoff sighed. "In his defense, I don't think he realizes Burrows just leaves them in the streets to die without medical care."

A noise escaped from behind Jessamine's gritted teeth, a snarl of pure frustration. She resumed her pacing, her long strides eating up the ground; perhaps she should have chosen the hallway to storm up and down, as it was longer.

"It is mind-blowing, really," Geoff said, watching her, "how long Burrows must have planned this for." 

Corvo carefully held out his hands, palms up. _'What do you mean?'_

Geoff gave him a grim, bleak look. "He was _ready._ The moment he became Lord Regent, the City Watch just so happened to obey his every whim? And he decides right away that the hospitals and infirmaries are full? There's rumors, you know, of what he intends to do with the survivors..."

"All those _people,"_ Jessamine said from the other side of the room, quiet and almost despondent. Her voice was choked. She stood with her back to them, facing a bookshelf as she struggled for composure. 

There was a shuffling sound out in the corridor. "Uncle?" Callista said, poking her head around the door. "You should rest."

"In a minute," Geoff said. He rubbed a hand across his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Admiral Havelock, however, doesn't like Burrows," he continued. "Which might be good for us. I got a chance to speak to him in private, and he said he's trying to gain access to that gardener who got arrested."

Corvo nodded mechanically. His skull felt stuffed with soaked wool. It was like he was only able to take in so much bad news at once, and his quota was full for now. 

He struggled to push away the images that rose in him--citizens falling ill, coughing and feverish, with no affordable care in sight... and then Burrows' henchmen, knocking on doors and ordering entire families out into the street, declaring that their homes now belonged to the Empire... 

"Havelock has heard rumors," Geoff said very quietly. He glanced at Jessamine's back, then leaned closer to Corvo. "He thinks Burrows is going to... dispose of those that are sick. He'll send them away to die." 

Jessamine strode back to them. Tendons stood out on her neck with tension, but she didn't seem to have heard that last part. An unearthly fire was burning in her eyes, and her face was drawn and gaunt-looking.

"How did the court react?" she demanded. "To the Watch, to Burrows, everything?"

"I don't know, your majesty," Geoff said. "I didn't speak to anyone else."

Jessamine scowled. Some color returned to her cheeks, and though it was new irritation, it was still a relief to see it. "There must have been _something._ The Boyles' footman, that vile spy, was he around?"

"Uncle," Callista called from the hallway. "You should really--"

"Just a moment, Callista," Geoff said, then frowned at Jessamine. "I don't know," he repeated. "What does he look like?"

"He's a tall fellow, with gray curly hair and... oh, forget it," Jessamine said with sharp frustration, waving that away. "What about the Murdochs, were they in mourning? --I rather think they would have been," she muttered to herself, "they've always seemed more liberal than conservative to me..."

She caught Geoff's look of confusion. "An elderly couple, both rather large," she added. "They are fond of the Tower's library, so perhaps you saw them around there..."

Geoff shrugged. "I don't think so," he said. "And Burrows was in mourning--he had a white lily pinned to his lapel and all. I only saw him for a moment. Even if your court were carrying lilies, perhaps their grief is only performative."

"Well, did you overhear anything, then?" Jessamine pressed. "Anything that well-dressed people might have said?"

"No, your majesty," Geoff said, then added hastily, "I'm sorry, I just have no mind for politics!"

Jessamine let out her breath through her nose, but made an effort to soften her glare. She pressed her lips into a thin line, and spent a moment staring into the middle distance, likely reminding herself that none of this was in fact Geoff Curnow's fault, and he did not deserve to bear the brunt of her ire.

"Of course," she said. Her voice was stern, but her anger was banked now, back under her control. "I apologize, Captain."

"It's alright," Geoff said awkwardly. He waved one hand, his ears reddening; he didn't seem to know what to do with an Empress' apology. "In your position I would be angry as well."

"Indeed," Jessamine said, a dark smile briefly twitching on her lips. Then her eyes went distant again. "Excuse me..."

She hurried out of the room. In the hallway, she seemed to collide with Callista; a yelp could be heard, and a hastily stammered apology from Geoff's niece. Jessamine's footsteps faded towards the dining room, most likely to scribble more notes onto her paper.

"There's so many flowers at the Tower," Geoff muttered into the silence. He stared vacantly at the window. "I wonder what'll be done with them after..."

Geoff trailed off. The trees outside swayed gently, dappling the sunlight that fell into the room. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. He'd shaved this morning, but perhaps he had missed a few spots in his haste; his fingers rasped over his jaw.

He took a deeper breath, shaking his head a little, then looked at Corvo. He swept his gaze up and down his body as though to check him over for injuries. "How are you holding up?"

When Corvo blinked in confusion, Geoff gestured at the window. His gaze was surprisingly sharp and assessing. "With the whole... situation out there."

Corvo stared at him, then at the window. What did the streets have to do with anything? Why would Geoff ask _him_ how he was doing, when Jessamine was the one who carried all the responsibility of righting the wrongs that'd been done to her city, and Emily was the traumatized child who'd borne horrors no one should have had to see?

He gave a half-shrug, then spread the fingers of his right hand, touching only his thumb to his chest. _'I'm alright.'_

Compassion deepened the lines around Geoff's eyes. He hesitated, then put a hand on Corvo's shoulder and squeezed. "They're putting up posters now," he said, inexplicably. "It's a load of shit, is what it is--"

"Uncle!" Callista almost snapped. She leaned around the doorway again. _"Please_ come sit down, I know you're still bleeding!"

"I'm not _bleeding,"_ Geoff said to her, though he winced, half-raising a hand to his chest. "It's just a little sore."

He clapped Corvo on the shoulder. "What I'm saying is, I wouldn't blame you for drinking yourself into a stupor. Not that that'd take long," he added with a small smile, and Corvo snorted, unoffended. 

Geoff gestured to the far end of the drawing room, where a slightly dusty cupboard held a number of bottles of varying sizes and colors. "My liquor cabinet is all yours, if you want it," he said, then went out into the hallway to let Callista fuss over him.

Corvo stared after him, confused. He had no idea what Geoff could have meant.

***

It seemed that the Tower wasn't the only place in Dunwall that had accumulated flowers. When Callista came back in, she carried their scent as well, a sweet, slightly sickly aroma of vegetation that wilted in the warm summer air.

She closed and locked the door behind her, panting a little from running up the stairs. Then she slipped past Corvo and blurted out, "There's an emergency Parliament session scheduled for tomorrow!"

Geoff looked up from the book he'd been half-heartedly leafing through, taking off his glasses. Callista pulled something out of her purse that crinkled loudly, and placed a fresh newspaper on the table, a thin volume whose ink was a little smeared, like it'd been printed hastily.

The large lettering at the top was upside down to Corvo, so it took him a moment to read it. _Dunwall Daily Gazette -- Evening Edition._

There'd never been a consistent evening edition of the Daily Gazette for as long as Corvo could remember. Perhaps once or twice the paper had released more news throughout the day--he recalled vaguely that there'd been an extra edition the day Jessamine's father had died. But generally, even Dunwall's juiciest gossip had to wait for the night's printing runs.

He stepped into the room, frowning, and helped Geoff clear away the tray and cups of their afternoon tea. He sneaked a few more glances at the paper--the headline about the Parliament session was on the first page, in bold black letters. _'Parliament to Convene Tomorrow,'_ it read, and in smaller writing just underneath: _'Lord Regent to Open Session at 9:00.'_

"--had to be fast to grab one," Callista was saying, taking off her shoes and the light coat she'd worn to ward off the mild evening chill. "Curfew starts in an hour, but there were so many people mobbing that poor paper boy... I hope they'll all get home safely..."

The bathroom door opened. A comparably small cloud of steam rolled out; apparently Jessamine had managed to convince Emily that since they were guests here, she was not allowed to overflow the tub the way she did at home.

Jessamine and Emily came out into the corridor. Jessamine paused right there, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was wet and loose, hanging in long tresses down her back, though she'd clearly tried to dry it with one of the Curnows' cheap towels.

Emily barreled over to Corvo, tripping over a wrinkle in the rug. She smelled of cheap soap, and her white clothing looked even more grubby now that she was freshly bathed. Her hair was so much shorter than Jessamine's that it'd dried to dampness; it left a cool imprint on his flank when she hugged him impulsively round the middle.

"I've got it!" Emily said, and drew back before he could do much more than make a surprised noise and try unsuccessfully to get a hand free to hug her back. Her eyes were bright with excitement. "I'm going to tell them we laid low with the Curnow family until it was safe. That's not a lie!"

It took Corvo a moment to understand what she meant; then he recalled Jessamine's solemn words to her, warning her of telling the wrong people about their interdimensional adventure. With his hands full of dishes, he couldn't sign, but he gave her a smile and lifted his brows in silent encouragement.

"You see, I _hate_ lying," Emily said earnestly. She glanced at the table, then took up the two small pitchers that'd used to contain milk to go with their tea.

"So I thought about it all afternoon," she explained, following him into the kitchen. "And if I say we stayed with the Curnows-- well, they won't know just who I mean! Nobody knows there's another Captain-- I mean, _Mr._ Curnow in the other dimension..."

She put the pitchers on the kitchen counter, then skipped back into the dining room. She returned with the half-empty pot of sugar before Corvo had quite gotten over his astonishment that she was helping to clear away the dishes.

At last his hands were free, though, and he gave her his held-up palms, lowering them towards his chest: _'That's a wonderful idea. You are very clever to have thought of this.'_

"Thanks!" Emily said, beaming. She set the sugar down, then her smile dimmed a little and she leaned close, beckoning to him until he knelt down on the floor, putting himself at eye level with her to listen.

"I'm really relieved," she confessed quietly. "If it's only a small lie to protect the Captain, because he helped us get back, it's not as bad, right?"

She didn't look too uncertain. Her mouth quivered a little, but at least her eyes were dry, and her gaze was direct and questioning. Corvo allowed himself a moment of quiet pride at her confidence. Yes, she had endured much, and overall her calm was much more frail than it seemed sometimes. But she kept finding new reserves of strength within herself, and for that Corvo admired her.

_'It is not bad,'_ Corvo confirmed. _'You're not hiding the truth with malicious intent. You are only protecting a friend. And keeping the other realm out of the story will not harm anyone.'_

"Right!" Emily said, and smiled in relief. "See, that's what I thought too." She reached out an squeezed his arm; perhaps she'd been a little more unsure than she'd let on. "I knew you'd understand."

***

Minutes later, they were all seated at the table, with fresh tea that Geoff had brewed himself. He'd glanced cautiously into the kitchen, wondering aloud whether the Empress would tolerate another serving of bread and jam for dinner; he'd claimed a contagious stomach bug to his housekeeper to keep her away.

Mrs. Eliot was steadfast and loyal, he'd told Corvo, but she was also an incorrigible gossip. He hadn't wanted to risk her laying eyes on the Empress in his dining room. As well-meaning as Mrs. Eliot was, by the next morning, all of Dunwall and probably half of Gristol would know where to find her.

Corvo was the last to sit down. He paused while pulling back his chair, gazing around the table. It wasn't completely unlike Jessamine's Privy Council: a group of people, in one way or another committed to ensuring the continued safety of the Empire, convening to discuss an important matter.

Except, on her Privy Council, there was no ten-year-old leaning too far over in her chair, craning her neck in an unselfconscious attempt to read the paper over Jessamine's shoulder. He hid a small smile and sat down.

Callista was all but vibrating in her seat, her hands fidgeting on the table. She stared at Jessamine like she wanted to project her thoughts directly into the Empress' skull or, failing that, get to plan their entire next move on her own. 

"Isn't it perfect?" she blurted out the moment Jessamine lowered the paper. "You can go and reinstate your claim to the throne in front of everybody, and expose Burrows for the traitor he is!"

Jessamine tilted her head thoughtfully. "That could work..."

Corvo hissed in a breath through his teeth. Unease stirred in him. He thought of all the people who'd be assembled in that hall, the lords and ladies of Parliament, and how many hidden knives and daggers they might be carrying. He signed, _'Such a public display holds its own dangers, though.'_

"It could be dangerous," Geoff translated, just when Callista said, "Danger, yes--Lord Attano, I think that--"

They both broke off, staring at each other. Geoff raised his eyebrows, and Callista's cheeks went a little pink. 

"Well, I thought it'd be best if I learned a bit of sign language as well," she said defensively, as though her uncle had berated her. "I only started last night, of course, so I'm not very good yet--I tried to pick useful words that might aid us in the coming days... like 'run, hide, be careful,' those kinds of things..."

Geoff smiled. His eyes shone with pride at her thoughtfulness, but he saw how red her face was, and how her ears were beginning to blush too. So he just gave her a nod.

To Corvo he said, "I understand your concerns, I do. But I agree that it might be best to apprehend Burrows at Parliament. --No, think about it," he insisted, when Corvo raised his hands. "There is a certain safety gained from doing it publicly, isn't there? He can't very well tell the guards to attack the Empress in front of her assembled court."

"And if we give him time to plan anything," Callista put in, "he might send more assassins--"

"Good thinking, Callista," Geoff said, smiling at his niece. "I do believe we will gain the upper hand by way of the element of surprise."

"More assassins?" Jessamine asked doubtfully. She looked back and forth between Corvo and Geoff. "I think Burrows would have to overturn a lot of stones to find another troupe of black magic users who kill people for coin..."

"There are other ways to kill than just black magic," Geoff pointed out.

Jessamine blinked at him, her eyebrows climbing towards her hairline, then smiled. It wasn't a warm smile, or even a friendly one. Her nostrils flared a little, and there was steel in her eyes. "Captain Curnow," she said. "I'm afraid you greatly underestimate Lord Attano's skill."

Corvo flinched. He couldn't help it. It was like the jolt one got when reaching into a whale oil lamp, jarring and painful. 

The small flame of relief that Jessamine still held him in such high regard was smothered almost instantly. It suffocated under a thick layer of burning shame. How could she have such faith in him when just three days ago, his failure had nearly cost her his life?

"Apologies, your majesty--my lord," Geoff added, inclining his head to Corvo. "I don't doubt that Corvo is more than a match for anyone the Lord Regent might send your way..."

Corvo stared down at the table, blinking quickly. He felt sick. Once again he thought of the Flooded District, the whalers' masks he was sure he'd see in his sleep for weeks to come... Attano's ruthless skill, how he'd almost seemed delighted when more lackeys had come running to meet them...

And Emily, later, unbeknownst to anyone, glancing out of a window and beholding the carnage below. The blood would've mingled with the ever-present water, growing lighter and thinner as it ran out of that one crumpled body's severed neck...

Callista pursed her lips in disapproval. "That's not the point, though, is it?" she asked. "Just mowing down the scores of soldiers Burrows might throw at you?"

Jessamine slowly turned her head to stare at her. She didn't look particularly incensed by the interruption, but Callista's eyes widened anyway: caught up in the moment, she'd forgotten whom she was speaking to. She opened, then closed her mouth, blushing deeper red, then sent a helpless look at her uncle.

"I believe," Geoff cut in delicately, "Callista assumes that you might wish to avoid further bloodshed."

Jessamine looked surprised, then a little ashamed. "Of course," she said quietly. "You are correct.” She let out a careful breath. The fire in her eyes dimmed. "A diplomatic confrontation would be... far preferable."

"Why?" Emily spoke up suddenly. "He tried to kill you. Wouldn't it be only fair to kill him back?"

She had her hands folded on the table, and looked for all the world like a young diplomat who was unsatisfied with some political matter. A small furrow of impatience scrunched up her brow. If it hadn't been for the way her lower lip stuck out in the beginning of a pout, she would have been right at home in Jessamine's council chambers.

If Jessamine was dismayed by her daughter's words, she did not show it. She looked at Emily in silence for a moment, likely trying out several possible responses in her head, then said, "I am the Empress of the Isles." She gave Emily a small smile, weary but not unkind. "I cannot afford to be vengeful."

For a moment it looked like Emily would object, but then her eyes cleared into understanding. "Oh," she said, and sat back in her chair.

Corvo peered at her, but she just looked thoughtful, not disgruntled. She propped one elbow up on the table and toyed with her torn collar, turning Jessamine's words over in her mind. Perhaps this touched upon some obscure history lesson her tutors had taught her; it clearly made sense to her in some way.

He suppressed another rush of pride. Emily was just ten, but she was already wiser than many were at twice her age.

Jessamine tapped her fingernails onto the table, considering. "Also, if I confront him privately, he'll stall," she said. Her expression darkened, a forbidding tightness forming around her mouth. "He is good at that. He'll claim I'm an impostor, a distant relative who just so happens to look like the Jessamine Kaldwin he knew, taking advantage of the unrest in the city..."

She trailed off. Her gaze lingered on the newspaper, whose pages were spread this way and that. But she didn't really seem to see the printed words. Her eyes were clouded and dark.

For a moment, Corvo saw some of what he thought the next few weeks would be like: Jessamine, awake at night, pacing her bedroom, running mentally through every conversation and argument and disagreement she'd had with her former Spymaster... wondering if she would have sniffed out the conspiracy if she'd been more observant, or less trusting, or less stressed...

"Callista is right," she said after a moment, visibly shaking off her thoughts. "It will be useful to be recognized by a lot of people at once."

Callista brightened at the praise. "So you agree?" she asked excitedly. "That the Parliament session is the best moment to strike?"

Jessamine hesitated. She locked eyes with Corvo, then said, "Lord Attano, I would have your thoughts on this." The corner of her mouth twitched into a small smile that Corvo was almost sure no one but him noticed. "I don't want to make an uninformed decision."

Corvo thought for a moment. The thing was, Geoff and Callista were right. Removing Burrows from his ill-begotten office would be much easier while playing off the collective shock of Dunwall's court... it would be dangerous, yes, but it was a risk Jessamine was clearly willing to take.

_'It is worrying that you will walk into a roomful of people, none of whose allegiances we can be truly sure of until you reveal yourself.'_ He sighed through his nose, slowing down his hands and not looking away from her for even a second. _'But I'm well aware that courtly politics are your area of expertise, not mine. I will defer to your judgment.'_

Jessamine's eyes were blue and searching, trying to filter out the truth in Corvo's words from his polite deference to his Empress. 

Finally she nodded once, sharply, and began to reassemble the paper. "Tomorrow morning, then," she said. "Parliament it is."

***

Emily did not usually snore. Her sleeping breaths only ever made noise when she was ill, her nose swollen and stuffed with mucus, or when her head was tilted at a particular angle.

Which was the case right now: she lay sprawled sideways across Callista's bed, spread-eagled on her back, with a pillow wedged up against her neck. Her head hung backwards, and each of her deep breaths ended in a hoarse snuffle. Despite the frankly uncomfortable-looking position, she was deeply asleep, not even twitching at the glow of the whale oil lantern on the desk.

The pipes in the building clanked and groaned. In one of the apartments below, a door slammed. Each sound seemed to echo farther in the dark than it had during daylight.

Dunwall's nights were much quieter than Karnaca's. People laughed louder in the south, and played the kind of upbeat music that lured even the grumpiest seafarers into chaotic knots of dancers... 

He'd never heard the same hubbub in Dunwall's moonlit streets, the mingling of voices and footsteps and giggling that he knew so well from Karnacan nights of drunken revelry.

Not that there were no taverns in Dunwall; quite the opposite. But there was still something more somber about even the merriest of Gristolian celebrations, a certain poise that Karnaca lacked.

Perhaps it was the presence of the Abbey that lent Dunwall a more stately veneer. In Corvo's youth, Serkonan Overseers had been more preoccupied with drinking and visiting brothels than making their citizens learn the Seven Strictures.

Until very recently, Corvo would have insisted he preferred Dunwall's temperament; the city's atmosphere suited his constitution better than exuberant, irreverent Karnaca. But now, he couldn't help but wonder whether he would have learned to feel more at home in Karnaca, had he stayed.

Attano certainly fit right in with the sunburned, boisterous crowds. He had carved a home for himself out of the painful, perpetually hungry chaos of their shared childhood. He hadn't fled from his ghosts. He'd stayed, and conquered them all. How else had he gained the strength to stand in that Void-cursed alley and speak calmly of the day that'd so drastically altered the course of Corvo's life?

He must have done something differently, something that'd let him surpass Corvo in skill. He had done what Corvo couldn't, and saved Jessamine's life. He'd beheaded Daud like it was nothing...

Corvo unclenched his jaw with some difficulty. His temples ached from the pressure. Just the memory of Attano, so different from him and yet so similar, was enough to make him grit his teeth. 

Tonight, Dunwall's streets seemed deathly silent. The only noise came from a few nocturnal birds, but even their melodious tweeting seemed muffled under a thick shroud of tension. The contrast to Karnaca couldn't have been more jarring.

Corvo had peered out of the window for a moment, and seen only a deserted street. No late-night workers walked home, and no small clusters of gentlemen stood outside smoking. Not even an alley cat was darting from shadow to shadow.

The door opened with a quiet creak. Jessamine sidled in through the gap, avoiding the single creaking floorboard in the doorway. The soothing tones of a chamber orchestra drifted into the room--Callista had carried her audiograph into the drawing room, and its slightly tinny melody filtered through the wall.

Geoff had donned his Captain's uniform and gone on a nightly excursion to Dunwall Tower. He'd foregone the pistol in deference to his sore chest, but he'd strapped an extra knife to his belt.

"Don't worry, your majesty," he'd said before leaving, determination gleaming in his eyes as he bowed to Jessamine in farewell. "I will do my part to make sure tomorrow goes smoothly."

Jessamine hefted the weight of her unbound hair over her shoulder, letting it fall down her back. The warm summer air had dried it, and now that she'd forced Callista's short-bristled brush through the tangles, it gleamed like silk, hanging down to the middle of her back. She frowned at herself in the small mirror next to Callista's door, then turned to Corvo and gave him a tired smile.

Dark shadows sat under her eyes, and her approaching footsteps were slower than usual. She whispered, "Would you braid my hair?"

Jessamine's hair sliding through his fingers was familiar, grounding. Standing behind her, looking down at his hands, Corvo could breathe a little easier.

The first few times he'd braided her hair, his hands had shaken wildly. She'd been only twenty, and the intimacy between them brittle and new, and he was fairly sure he'd pulled out some of her hair no matter how careful he'd tried to be.

It was nostalgia that'd made his hands unsteady. Handling Jessamine's hair had been near-painful, jarring at the half-buried memory of doing the same for Beatrici. His sister's hair had been thicker and coarser than Jessamine's, easier to handle in a way; Jessamine's hair was so smooth that it was slippery, and he had to pull a little harder to get the stitches of her braid to stay in place.

He took his time now, fixing his gaze on his task. Right over middle, left over middle... on the bed, Emily gave a particularly loud snore, then huffed in her sleep and turned her head. When her breaths resumed, the snoring was quieter.

Corvo fastened off the end of Jessamine's braid with the piece of string she handed him. It was a bit tricky, holding the ends of her hair in place while tying a knot, but he managed; he'd certainly had enough practice by now.

"Thanks," Jessamine whispered. She squeezed his shoulder, then turned to the bed and began to undress, pulling her arms out of the oversized sleeves of Curnow's shirt.

Corvo sat back down. The chair seemed to have an almost magnetic force; he dropped back into it heavily, the wood creaking in protest. He clenched his teeth around a yawn. Why was he so tired?

They'd been cooped up in the apartment all day. And _he_ hadn't really done anything. It was Jessamine who'd covered two pages of paper in dense writing as she prepared for tomorrow, and Callista who'd entertained Emily with more stories of pirates to take her mind off things. Even Geoff had done more, his body continuing to heal the wound dealt by the Outsider...

Jessamine stepped out of her trousers, curling her socked toes into the threadbare rug by Callista's bed. This chemise was shorter than those she wore under dresses; it covered her barely to mid-thigh. The night was warm, though, and her drawers went down to just below her knees, lending some additional coverage.

She sighed in relief as she took off her corset, undoing the hooks in the front with a quiet scrape of metal on metal. When she discarded it on the floor, Corvo spotted the yellowish stains that the assassin's blood had left. 

Clad only in her chemise and drawers, Jessamine stretched, raising her arms above her head. Her braid swayed gently. Something in her back gave a muted pop and she grunted in satisfaction, settling herself back onto her heels, then turned around.

Corvo wasn't prepared for the weight of her gaze as it landed on him. His throat tightened without warning, a cold rush flowing down his back. The blue of her eyes hit him hard, startling away some of the tiredness that weighed down his limbs, and he was beset by the sudden, gut-clenching conviction that he'd done something terribly wrong.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to dispel the crawling discomfort. Jessamine studied him, her head cocked like a curious bird. He tried to smile at her, but must have failed quite dreadfully, because she started to frown and walked towards him.

"Are you alright?" Jessamine asked. "You've been quiet. --Oh, you know what I mean," she said with a small, exasperated smile when he raised his eyebrows.

Corvo's hands were heavy and limp in his lap. What was he supposed to say to that? He was tired, but that would be helped by a solid night of sleep; his stomach churned with anticipation and nervousness for what tomorrow would bring, but even that day would end. There wasn't anything factually _wrong._ He didn't... he was...

Jessamine came to stand between his thighs, gently pushing aside his knee with hers. She smelled like soap and sweat; after days of pressing up against her skin, her chemise was rumpled and needed a wash. She would likely take a bath tomorrow night, when she was safely reinstated in her private chambers...

Tomorrow night. Corvo sighed. It was foolish of him to assume that the chaos in the city would just resolve itself as soon as Jessamine exposed Burrows for the traitor he was. Even _if_ everything went smoothly, and Burrows' co-conspirators--if he'd had them--admitted defeat, it was much more likely that the first reparations would take all night. 

Jessamine would be shut in her office with a yawning aide or two, and a constant stream of high-ranking soldiers and dignitaries going in and out. The daylight would fade, and she'd argue herself hoarse when a captain of the City Watch protested the dropped curfew... 

He flinched when Jessamine's fingertips brushed against his cheek. He surfaced from his thoughts with a small gasp. His chest felt tight, unwilling to let his lungs inflate. 

Jessamine held briefly still, waiting, but when he didn't pull away, she cupped his face between her hands. She rubbed her fingertips through the hair at his temples, just above his ears, and asked, "Is... is it Karnaca?"

For a moment, Corvo wondered if she'd caught a glimpse of his earlier thoughts by some arcane ritual. But it wasn't her who bore the Outsider's mark.

He looked up at her silently, wondering what he could possibly tell her that would make sense. The cool light cast strange shadows across her face, collecting in the fine lines around her eyes and the small, concerned frown between her brows.

Jessamine licked her lips, hesitant. Her eyelashes trembled a little, and Corvo realized suddenly that she was nervous, wary of saying the wrong thing and... and _hurting_ him. She didn't know what to say to help, any more than he knew what he wished to hear. 

"I've found that some things... follow you. Like ghosts," she added, with a small smile. "You know how I was, ten years ago. It took me months in Parliament to stop waiting for my father to come barging in to tell me I was doing a terrible job..."

Corvo's heart clenched and sank. He shook his head. It wasn't _just_ Karnaca that roiled and simmered in his thoughts like the churn behind a too-fast ship. 

Whenever he blinked, he could see his other self before him, clear as day. The other Corvo Attano, with a cocky smirk and a voice and a life that Corvo couldn't imagine leading. A captain of the Grand Serkonan Guard, who'd let a chaos god carve magic into his chest so that he could come to Jessamine's aid...

No. Not Jessamine's. Attano had made that one thing quite clear, multiple times: He'd made the journey to Dunwall for Corvo. To help him, save him from whatever terrible fate would have befallen him in the event of the Empress' death.

Corvo blew out a breath through his nose, not quite a snort. That was the macabre, humiliating thing about it all, wasn't it? Attano had set out to help him, and he'd righted the course of a teetering Empire almost as an afterthought. He'd accomplished in a heartbeat what Corvo would have torn himself apart to do...

No, that couldn't... he was not truly that shallow. He _was_ grateful for Attano's interference--though Corvo suspected that the full magnitude of what the man had done for all of them wouldn't hit home until the last of the shock had worn off. 

What did it matter which one of them had saved Jessamine's life? 

It wasn't his pride that was hurt... or was it?

Jessamine was still waiting for an answer. Corvo swallowed hard, unsurprised to find a hot, unyielding lump in his throat. He _hated_ these thoughts. He did not want them, not here and nowhere near Jessamine or their daughter. They felt like poison, acidic and corrosive.

"Corvo," Jessamine whispered, hardly more than a breath. She stroked her thumb across his cheek, entreating.

Void damn him, but he couldn't deny her anything. Or at least his hands couldn't. They seemed to move on their own, brushing his right index finger over his other flat palm in a slow, damning sign: _'I have failed you both.'_

Jessamine's mouth dropped open, then trembled in dismay. "Corvo, no!" she said, quiet but vehement. Her fingers tightened against his face, scraping over his stubble. "Don't-- _never_ think that! You did everything you could..."

She didn't have to ask what he meant. Corvo almost smiled bleakly. Had she been thinking about it too, replaying those moments in her mind?

He couldn't move. His hands had formed into fists on his thighs. Divulging even those five words hurt like he'd tried to tear out one of his ribs.

It all boiled down to Attano. If it'd been a random brave servant stabbing Daud from behind with a kitchen knife, Corvo would have been nothing but grateful. 

How could he tell Jessamine about the ugly jealousy that seethed that his _other self_ had saved her, the other Corvo who yelled at the Outsider, who laughed more, and from whose mouth her name fell so effortlessly?

A fine tremor ran through Jessamine's hands. Her fingers twitched against his jaw; he got the impression that she wanted to shake him, and refrained only because of their sleeping daughter and the late hour.

"You haven't failed _anyone!"_ she said vehemently. "Not me, and not Emily. Don't you think I saw your face that day? You were ready to give your _life_ for us--"

He shook his head sharply, pressing his lips into a thin line. He didn't want to insult her, but he was in no mood for platitudes, even well-intended ones.

Jessamine studied him, her mouth turned unhappily down at the corners. She ran her fingers through his hair again, tucking one thick strand behind his ear, then pulled him close.

***

With his cheek cushioned against Jessamine's breast, it was a little easier to breathe.

Her fingers still played with his hair. She leaned against him, resting her chin on top of his head, and he felt her relax too. Her shoulders drooped with a long, relieved sigh, like it'd physically pained her to see him so distraught without having him in her arms.

Corvo settled his hands on her hips, carefully. He waited, but though his stomach twisted, he didn't feel too unworthy to touch her, so he left his hands where they were, especially when Jessamine gave a little contented wiggle and leaned closer to him, squashing his ear against her sternum for a moment.

Jessamine's heartbeat was close and warm under his ear. The calm, even thump was primordially reassuring, and it helped him think.

Corvo closed his eyes. He tried to look inside himself like an unbiased observer might, or a physician assessing a new patient's symptoms... There was no doubt about it. The guilt and anger were products of his/ a wounded pride.

He'd always thought he had little illusions about himself and his character. He was flawed, certainly; too stoic, not But among all his sins and shortcomings, he'd never considered himself to be prideful. 

He ducked his head, letting out a shaky breath against Jessamine's chemise. This behavior shamed him. He'd been Jessamine's Royal Protector for almost two decades, and he knew the job well, he _knew_ there was no room in his priorities for his own fragile ego... 

What did it matter that he hadn't been the hero of the hour? Why did it matter so much, when Jessamine had been saved? He cringed, pressing his cheek a little harder against Jessamine's breast. 

The way he'd _acted,_ stomping around Karnaca like a sulking child... he should have been embracing his other self in gratitude, not shunning the man, glaring and snarling like a wounded animal...

But the shock of seeing the place of his birth had torn him open. It'd knocked him thoroughly off-kilter, casting even Attano's help in a queer, belligerent light, until the man's mere presence rubbed merciless salt into the wounds of Corvo's deficiencies, painfully obvious when contrasted against Attano's wit, his easy-going nature, his bold laugh and the calm steadiness with which he faced the pains of their shared past...

Jessamine swayed them gently from side to side. Her cheek rested against his hair, her breaths brushing his ear. She had buried one hand deeply in his hair, scratching her nails gently across his scalp. 

Corvo let himself breathe in her scent of soap, sweat, and something foreign, likely Curnow's laundry soap. She didn't blame him. He knew that. So what right did he have to castigate himself? She was his Empress. If she decided he was blameless, wasn't it his sworn duty to believe her?

But no. This ran too deep. Even for her, he couldn't fully let go of the guilt he felt.

Disjointed images spun through his head, harsh and grating. Hanging there in the air, helpless as their daughter screamed in terror and was whisked away... Daud's knuckles colliding with Jessamine's cheek, with a fleshy crack that would reverberate through Corvo's nightmares...

Jessamine's other hand was resting on his back, warm through his shirt. Her fingers moved and curled in an odd pattern. It took him a moment to realize she was signing, her middle and ring fingers folded down against her palm while her other fingertips touched his back in small, warm points. 

He forced a deep breath into his lungs, ignoring the hot prickle of his eyes. Even if he couldn't accept the absolution she offered him, one thing he didn't doubt was Jessamine's fierce, unyielding love. It'd eroded his uncertainty, the gap between their stations, grown and deepened over the past ten years... even if he couldn't believe anything else, he believed that.

He set his jaw and leaned back, withdrawing reluctantly from her embrace. He signed back, _'I love you too.'_

Jessamine gave him a lopsided smile. Her eyes seemed a little damp, but perhaps that was just Corvo's imagination. "Better?" she whispered.

The hot coal of shame still sat his stomach, but it was a little lighter than it had been. He nodded.

Jessamine carded her fingers through his hair, first on the right, then on the left. Again and again, slow and meditative, combing the stubborn strands out of his face. It'd been a while since Corvo's hair had seen a brush, and Jessamine untangled the ends with patient fingers.

He breathed slowly, focusing on pulling more air into his lungs, until it felt a little less like he would burst into tears like some rattled youth. After a moment, he somehow found it in himself to give her a lopsided smile. It felt more like a grimace, but this time she didn't flinch, so it was probably better than some of his earlier attempts had been.

_'You were right,'_ he signed. _'Karnaca is following me, yes.'_

Jessamine winced in sympathy. Her fingers tightened in his hair, then withdrew slowly, stroking her fingertips along his cheeks.

"Well, this is Dunwall," she said, with some cheer that was only halfway forced. "Let me tell you..." 

She went to the window and drew back the curtain. A sliver of moonlight fell into the room, along with a brighter flicker, likely from of one of the old-fashioned gas lamps that lined the street, sputtering remnants from a time without whale oil that Dunwall's less wealthy parts could not yet afford to replace.

"It's quite dark," Jessamine told him, leaning her hip against the windowsill. "There's no one outside, and there's certainly no music... well, except for Callista's audiograph. The night is much cooler than it was in Karnaca..."

Corvo found himself smiling, small and absent-minded. He leaned back in the chair, his hands in his lap, and at last relaxed a little. This was Jessamine to a tee, unsure how to help but more than willing to try, applying herself wholly and gladly to the task of lending him strength.

His throat still felt raw, but for an entirely different reason. The light flowed over her, catching in the lace of her chemise, which was limp now, the starch long rubbed out from days of wear and tear. The moon gave her hair a silvery sheen, and she looked almost like some benevolent nocturnal spirit, otherworldly and untouchable, although the warmth of her touch still lingered where she'd trailed her soft fingertips along Corvo's jaw.

"The trees aren't blooming anymore," she murmured. She leaned forward to look at something near the curb. "The blossoms were all swept away though, the street looks very neat." She paused. "I wonder who does the sweeping here? Perhaps the neighbors share the duty of keeping the street clean..."

She paused, frowning. "Oh, there's someone coming."

Corvo tensed. He darted a glance to the pile of his weapons, bracing himself for the sound of gunshots--egged on by Burrows, the City Watch were merciless in their pursuit of curfew breakers...

"Looks like a worker," Jessamine said. "Isn't he afraid of the curfew?" 

Corvo glanced at Emily, who slumbered on obliviously, wondering how fast he could lunge for her and hold her, in the event that gunfire below the window startled her into wakefulness. But from outside came only the sound of a lot of paper unfolding, and liquid sloshing in some container. A creak of hinges followed, then a clatter of wood on stone...

"He's got a ladder," Jessamine said, sending a baffled glance back at Corvo over her shoulder. "It looks like he's putting up a poster..."

More unfolding sounds. Jessamine flinched suddenly, and stared hard down into the street, her forehead bumping against the window. Her mouth opened slowly in a mixture of shock and outrage, then she reared back and yanked the curtains shut. The rings squeaked along the curtain rod, and the fabric swayed in protest against the rough handling. 

"It's late," Jessamine said awkwardly into the silence. "We should rest..."

A window opened very close by; from the strains of music that trickled out into the night, it was likely one of the dining room windows. "Hey!" Callista shouted. On the bed, Emily flinched. "Stop that!"

"Outsider's eyes, missy!" a man's voice yelped from below, likely the worker. "Ye scared me half t' death!"

The windowsill creaked audibly, a bit of gravel clattering down into the street. Callista had to be leaning out and over to speak to the man, heedless of her precarious position in her indignation. "You can't put that here!" she snapped. Her voice echoed down the street. "This is private property!"

"But the sidewalk ain't," the man protested. Paper crinkled and fluid dribbled as he likely applied glue to the back of his poster.

"Well, this house is," Callista retorted, "and I don't want to look at that drivel day in, day out. Go down Valenca Street. Make yourself useful and cover up the graffiti that says Mrs. Haversham is a whore."

Emily rolled over and blinked sleepily, less than half awake. She looked at Corvo and Jessamine, checking to see if both her parents were present, then snuggled deeper into the pillow and shut her eyes again.

A befuddled pause, then the man tried again. His ladder creaked loudly as he probably drew himself up to his full height. "My orders," he said pompously, "came directly from the Lord Regent himself--"

Callista laughed sharply. "Hiram Burrows can stick _that,"_ she likely pointed at the poster, "where the sun doesn't shine, and I'm not talking about Redmoor."

There was a creak and a clatter of wood as the man stepped off his ladder, bristling. "See here, missy--"

_"Go away."_

Reluctant footsteps retreated down the street. The man muttered under his breath, likely something uncomplimentary about Callista's ancestors. A wooden scrape followed him as he dragged his ladder away.

"The _Lord Regent,"_ Callista muttered, disgusted. "May the Outsider's foul gaze find his putrid soul, shrivel his privates, and--"

The window closed, mercifully cutting off the rest.

Corvo and Jessamine stared at each other, wide-eyed. Jessamine snorted, then burst into giggles. Corvo tried to choke down his own laughter, tinged with the barest note of hysteria, and managed a wheeze. Jessamine leaned over, muffling her cackle with both hands.

Emily said sleepily, "Which pirates are shriveled?"

"None at all, sweetling," Jessamine said, though her voice wobbled with held-back chuckling. She wiped at her watering eyes. "Go back to sleep."

"The ones in Callista's book looked fine," Emily mumbled. Then she rolled over again, and a moment later her deep breathing resumed.

Jessamine dabbed at her eyes again, then sighed, her shoulders drooping in relief. Corvo tamped down on his smile. He wondered what kind of poster had ignited Callista's temper like that--she seemed a calm, collected young woman, not prone to bursts of shouting like they'd just heard.

"It _is_ late, though," Jessamine said. She smiled at Corvo and held out her hand. "Come to bed."

Corvo shifted in Callista's chair, which creaked a little under his weight. _'I should sleep in this chair. Emily is resting--'_

"And she will continue to rest with her father by her side," Jessamine countered serenely, likely having anticipated his protest. "We all fit in here last night."

Last night he'd been absolutely bone-deep exhausted, and his yearning to be close to his family, feel their warmth and hear their slumbering breaths, had outweighed the knowledge that the courteous thing to do would have been to retreat to the chair.

Jessamine had that stubborn look about her, though, her chin jutting out defiantly while one hand sat propped on her hip. She would not let him get away with staying in the chair, and so he nodded and stood, a part of him painfully relieved that he could surrender.

His coat lay crumpled on the chair, wrinkled where Corvo had been sitting on it. Jessamine shook it out, then folded in the sleeves and draped the heavy bundle of fabric over the back of the chair. Corvo took off his boots and, after a moment's hesitation, propped his sword up against Callista's nightstand, where he'd be able to reach it.

Jessamine pushed Emily very gently towards the side of the bed. Emily grumbled, but scooted over in her sleep, then stuck her arm under her chest, turning her head away. A moment passed, then her snore started again, muffled by the pillow.

"See?" Jessamine whispered to him, gesturing at Emily. "I told you. She sleeps like a rock."

Corvo gave her a weary smile and nodded, conceding the point. He moved to sit at the edge of the bed, his knees cracking, and Jessamine protested instantly, sitting down so close that he had no choice but to scoot backwards. "No," she said, gesturing for him to move. "In the middle."

He stared at the rumpled sheets, then back at her. A nameless anxiety tightened his throat. He couldn't just... Jessamine and Emily were fatigued... he should offer her the coziest, safest place in the middle of the bed... and he had to be ready to protect them, rolling out of bed and onto his feet at a moment's notice...

Corvo passed his palm in front of his forehead, then twirled his little finger. _'Jessamine...'_

"Oh no," she said, holding up her hand, though a small smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "As much as I adore it when you use my name sign, it will not get you out of this."

She held his gaze, warm but unwavering, until he let out a sigh and clambered onto the bed, trying not to make the mattress sway too much under his weight. 

He found himself lying on his side, facing Emily. He longed to touch her, rest a hand on her back to feel her relaxed breathing, but didn't dare. His daughter did have a deep sleep, but he didn't want to risk disturbing her.

Jessamine lay down behind him, and wormed her calf between his knees. She wrapped one arm tightly around his chest and cushioned her head with the other, tucking her face against the nape of his neck.

She said nothing, and made no sound aside from a satisfied sigh. But suddenly that brittle feeling was back, a trembling sensation like his chest might crack open if he so much as twitched. He sucked in air through his nose, trying to keep his breathing even. 

Jessamine was so warm and soft, but her arm around him was strong. She could probably feel his racing heart under her palm. But she didn't speak. She just drew slow circles on his chest with her thumb, rubbing the fabric of his shirt against his skin.

Corvo let his eyes drift shut. The darkness behind his lids was shapeless and deep. Almost against his will, the tiredness came back--it'd lurked in the background, ready to befall him again the moment he settled down to rest. The hard knot in his stomach was still there, but with Jessamine's hand on his chest it was easier to bear, and did not burn quite as painfully.

Tomorrow, Jessamine would wrest her court back under her control, steering the Empire back into safer waters by pure force of will. Things would likely take a bit of time to settle down, and the rat plague was far from over. But there would be ample time to train, hone his skills to an even finer point... he would spar with Geoff every day until he ached all over, and make sure he _never_ failed her again...

With Jessamine's warmth behind him, sleep found him quickly. His mind blurred and wavered out of focus. He seemed to sink deeper into the mattress. The ends of Emily's hair tickled his nose, and that writhing, humiliated thing in his soul settled down a little bit.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEHEHE HEHE HUEHEHUEHEHE. Ahem. I _really_ enjoyed writing this chapter, though it's also the one I rewrote most often (3 times, I think, by my last count). Just had a bit of a heart attack because the file wouldn't open for like 5 minutes. DROPBOX PLS
> 
> Some might say the Parliament scene is too long, and I do apologize for Carrying On, but consider this: I had so much fun letting Jessamine lay into Burrows. I hope it feels cathartic to read, too.
> 
> Content notes for this chapter: Some blood/injury. A few of Jessamine's courtiers are OCs of mine. However, Lady Gertrude and her iconic line belong to [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac/pseuds/Drac), who kindly gave me permission to borrow her from their amazing Dishonored fic, [Not Look Well In Black](https://archiveofourown.org/works/680071). If you haven't read it yet, go do that now, go go go! Drac is a master of the grotesquely funny, often macabre atmosphere we see around much of Dunwall's aristocracy. I love their fic so much. <3

"The rumors of my death," Jessamine said loudly, over the rising din of confused voices, "have been greatly exaggerated." 

The Parliament chamber erupted into shouts and whispers. Eyes widened all around the room, mouths opened in shock. A startled murmur rose, echoing off the high walls and the stately marble pillars that supported the domed ceiling.

Jessamine stood with her head held high, waiting out the hubbub. Only Corvo, right behind her and to her left, saw the twitch of a clenched muscle in her jaw that betrayed her nervousness. 

She was without jewels; even her golden pocket watch was missing. Curnow's borrowed shirt from another dimension sat ill-fitting on her slim frame. Her face was unadorned by make-up, her hair pinned into a simple, rather tousled bun... but she looked every inch the Empress of the Isles.

This morning, Callista had offered to lend her a tunic or at least a light jacket, but Jessamine waved her off. She'd eaten only small morsels of buttered bread for breakfast, then sat with her hands folded, her expression drawn and stern. She'd given monosyllabic answers when anyone tried to talk to her, and had a smile only for Emily, who'd stretched up onto her tiptoes to give her a good luck kiss. 

Corvo knew that steely look well. She would not stop or rest until she stood in the halls of Parliament among her courtiers, and had no time for mundane things like clothing. She would have marched up those marble stairs dressed in a potato sack or entirely nude; today, nothing would stop her from doing her duty.

Precious oil paintings looked down at the assembled lords and ladies of Jessamine's court. Some of them were so old their paint had been stained by generations of smoking lords showing off their expensive imported cigars. Others, like the painting of Jessamine's father, were newer, the paint fresher.

It could have been Corvo's imagination, but he had always thought that Anton Sokolov had captured Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin's rare mischief on his canvas. Of course his expression was dignified and forbidding, as befitted an Emperor. But his steely blue eyes seemed to twinkle in the beginnings of a smile.

Looking at Jessamine's straight back and the way she'd squared her shoulders, Corvo couldn't help but believe that Euhorn would have been proud of her in that moment. Standing before Parliament in a borrowed shirt, entirely unadorned by jewels--a determined monarch, come to reclaim what was hers. 

"What-- _how...?"_ gasped Lord Anderson, his haggard face pale as he gaped at his Empress.

Morgan and Custis Pendleton had their heads bent close, whispering furiously to each other. Lord Murdoch stared down at Jessamine, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. Esma Boyle's face was froze into a mask of grim surprise.

The stenographer's pen hovered above his papers. His hand trembled visibly. It took Corvo a moment to recognize the slim, bespectacled man as Jessamine's secretary.

He'd always known the man to be notoriously unflappable. Even he was slowly removing his glasses now, his eyes wide and wild.

Burrows, standing at the lectern in the middle of the hall, had gone sheet white. Dark, swollen bags sat under his eyes; the past few days had not been kind to him. His skin had a grayish tinge. There was a tremble along his jaw, the lines around his mouth deepening.

"Jessamine...?" he whispered. His voice went unheard, but his mouth shaped Jessamine's name. He reached blindly for the edge of his small wooden desk, fumbling and shaky-handed, and clutched at it with white-knuckled fingers.

Jessamine stepped forward into the chamber. Her shoes were still grayish-brown with Karnacan dust, and at some point, a few splashes of mud had made it onto her trousers.

"No, you are not dreaming," she said, her voice loud and steady, cutting effortlessly through the confused clamor. "Yes, I am here before you. I have survived the attempted murder."

Her eyes zeroed in on Burrows, flashing dangerously. "And I fully intend to take back what is mine."

***

"Wait," Jessamine had whispered to Corvo, just outside the doors. She'd put a hand on his arm, her fingers clenching hard in the fabric of his coat, as though he'd been about to storm into the room without her.

Geoff's guards were stationed throughout the Parliament building. He'd come home late last night, tired but triumphant, and left again before first light. 

Corvo had seen him leave only by chance. The gray light of dawn hadn't yet begun to brighten the apartment, but there'd been a queer anticipation in the air, the night pouring out its inkiest black in the small hours before sunrise. 

Corvo had come back from the bathroom and spotted Geoff shrugging on his coat, his sword clinking at his side as he downed a cup of black coffee in two big gulps. 

"Meeting with my officers," he'd whispered to Corvo. His face looked gaunt and exhausted from his lack of sleep, but his blue gaze was as direct and steady as always. "I'll see you later. Good luck."

He'd manipulated the duty rosters, filled the early morning watch shifts with soldiers and guards he trusted. He must have let a select few in on their plan, such as the two soldiers who flanked the doors to the Parliament chamber. 

They did not look overly shocked to see the supposedly dead Empress stride towards them. Their faces had been startled at most. They both bowed deeply to Jessamine, wordless, then withdrew down the hallway to secure the staircase against intruders. 

The Parliament building had been constructed to house the meetings and debates of the government. Its innermost hall had been built to amplify noise long before the age of loudspeakers. Burrows' voice carried far; it was clearly audible through the door. He spoke with his usual nasal gravitas, self-assured and nearly smug.

"On this day," he was saying, when Jessamine pulled on Corvo's sleeve until he crouched down by the door with her, "the 21st of the Month of Earth, 1837, Parliament has convened to discuss the state of emergency that has befallen our city..."

Corvo stared at Jessamine, wide-eyed. The _twenty-first?_ He did a quick count--yes, it had only been two days since their return to Dunwall... he'd come back from his expedition on the 18th, his pocket heavy with the letter he carried, but his heart growing lighter the closer he got to the Tower... 

It felt like half a lifetime had passed in Karnaca alone. He'd seen the sun rise over the bay only once, but it felt like so much longer.

Murmurs rose inside, shifting sounds of unrest. Chairs creaked as doubtful lords leaned close to each other to talk. Corvo suppressed a small smirk; Jessamine's Parliament sessions were often far from peaceful, but at least when she spoke, the others listened.

"Thank you all for coming," Burrows said, raising his voice. "It is important that we stand together in this tumultuous time. We have a long agenda to go through today, and I expect we shall be here until nightfall. Refreshments will be served, and breaks will be taken..."

Papers rustled. Burrows cleared his throat. "But I hope that we can all apply our combined intellect to the problem of how to move forward in these sad and trying times."

A short pause. Then a single voice rose above the others, shrill and hysterical. 

"The rat plague will take us all!" called Lady Gertrude Dobrev, strung out and panicked. "Jessamine Kaldwin couldn't save us and neither can you!"

A groan went up around the room. "Shut up, Gertrude," Esma Boyle said, with the weariness of one repeating herself.

"My Lady Dobrev, I must insist again that you calm yourself," Burrows cut in. Oily concern dripped from his words. "We will all need our wits about us in the oncoming weeks, and we cannot become hysterical..."

"Hiram, tell us the truth!" Lord Brimsley shouted, though his words wavered and cracked with age. "Where have you hidden Lady Emily?!"

One of the Pendleton twins spoke up. For a moment Corvo thought it was Morgan, but then recognized Custis' slightly deeper tones; Morgan was vile, yes, but there'd always been something about Custis' voice that was even more distasteful to him.

"Lord Brimsley, please," Custis sneered, falsely placating. "Your advanced age has you confused. No one in this room has hidden Lady Emily anywhere. We are searching tirelessly for where the traitor might have abducted her..."

Lord Brimsley barked out a short laugh. "My _advanced age_ has made me wise enough to see that you, sir, are a boot-licking fool!" he said. "And I'll be damned if I cannot recognize a lying, dishonorable usurper when I see one!"

The room devolved into angry, raised voices. Heated words flew back and forth, and Corvo heard Emily's name mentioned several times, along with his own. A man who sounded like Lord Anderson declared that he had known all along that this session would be a waste of time. Someone else started talking about the curfew and was shouted down into irrelevance by others...

"Order!" called High Overseer Campbell. Something about his voice, steady and strong, made Corvo think that he'd gotten the most sleep out of all of them last night. "Order, please. Let us not quarrel!"

His plea went unheeded. Someone close to the door said relatively quietly, "Gertrude, you're such a deranged cow--"

"Release the gardener from prison!" Lord Murdoch thundered, taking full advance of his sonorous bass. "Listen to what he has to say! Your lackeys already shot one witness, and we have not heard from the second!"

"Lackeys?!" General Tobias snarled back. It gave Corvo a sting to hear him; he could imagine his round face reddening in anger, his thick brows drawing down in a frown. "How dare you speak of the noble soldiers of the City Watch like that?"

Lord Anderson pounded his fist down on the table. "Your noble soldiers are tyrannizing the city! They're out of control, I say, out of control!"

Someone said, "Just because your son was arrested coming home from the Golden Cat--"

"Lies and slander!" Anderson shouted.

Jessamine's mouth had opened slowly in shock. Her blue eyes sought Corvo's, wide with disbelief. Hearing her courts' voices so close unsettled her, and lifted the fog of her tunnel-visioned determination. 

It was one thing, Corvo supposed, to make lists of who she hoped had uncomfortable questions to ask about her supposed assassination, and would mistrust Burrows. But it was another thing entirely to hear them argue so loudly just behind the door.

He would have liked to take her hand, or even just touch her shoulder, and lend her strength. But Jessamine's head was tilted towards the door, listening. The quick, clever gears of her mind were whirring visibly. She would not have called out to him in the middle of a sword fight either, so he refrained from touching her.

"The gardener," Burrows cut in impatiently, for the first time losing his hold on his temper, "presented a security risk. Are you accusing the City Watch of employing undue force, sir?"

Lord Murdoch sputtered. "That's not what I--"

"Be that as it may," Esma Boyle cut in, "the remaining witness _must_ be given a chance to speak."

She sounded as calm as ever, but her voice was a bit hoarse, like she'd spent the better part of the past few days arguing. "Perhaps he can tell us something useful! He might have seen which way the Royal Protector escaped--"

"Lady Boyle, with all due respect, you _cannot_ tell me you believe that drivel!" Lord Brimsley snapped, quite vigorously for a man his age. "Corvo Attano would not have hurt either the Empress or her daughter if the Void itself took shape and told him to!"

_What?_ Corvo stared at Jessamine. Hurt her? What did that mean? 

Their gazes caught and held. Jessamine took a breath to speak, but then something shuttered behind her eyes. She didn't look surprised. She raised one finger to her lips, as though Corvo had been about to demand aloud what was going on.

For the first time, Corvo saw that her nail polish was cracked and flaking. The red had chipped off almost entirely on her index fingers, and the color on her thumbs was scratched. Only her ring and pinkie fingers seemed mostly intact.

It was an odd thing to notice at this time. The mind focused on strange things in moments of stress. Floating in the green fog at the gazebo, Corvo had caught a glimpse of cobwebs in the rafters and hoped distantly that the servant responsible wouldn't get fired by the Tower's stern housekeeper...

"--but silencing witnesses is not the way to serve justice!" Esma snarled. Her fine-featured aristocratic face had to be pink with indignation by now, more animated than Corvo had ever seen or heard her. "I cannot be the only one here invested in a due process to uncover what really happened that day!"

"Justice won't bring the Empress back to life!" warbled Gertrude Dobrev. "Dunwall will topple into the Void..."

"What _really happened,_ Lady Boyle," Burrows said, struggling for patience, "is that our fair Empress was murdered, and I have weighed down my shoulders with the great responsibility of guiding the Isles through this crisis..."

"Oh please," Esma said, scoffing. "Do you hear yourself? Do try not to slip on your own pathos."

A short pause. The rest of the room had gone mostly silent; a few whispers here and there, but most of the court was listening. 

"Lady Boyle," Burrows said slowly, through a fake smile, though his voice grew louder with indignation as he spoke, "if you insist on being querulous, I will have you removed from the premises. You cannot speak to me like that!"

"Oh, I can't?" Esma asked with false surprise. Now another murmur went up, voices mingling. "A little drunk on power already, are we, after just a few days?"

Burrows bristled. "How _dare_ you!" he choked out. His voice grew hoarse with well-performed hurt. "I am a grieving man, deprived of one of his dearest friends! No one is more saddened by Jessamine's demise than I am..."

***

That was when they'd burst into the large room. Jessamine's face had hardened into a mask of righteous anger the longer Burrows spoke, and when he'd shouted about his grief, she'd stood abruptly and yanked the door open without warning. Corvo had scrambled to his feet to follow.

Over the years, Corvo had seen the chamber in various amounts of tumult. The first few sessions after Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin's death came to mind, when several lords and ladies had tried to test their wit against Jessamine's, whom they'd thought to be little more than a sheltered, grieving daughter. They'd quickly learned to respect her.

He'd heard lords snap obscenities at each other as the Speaker banged his gavel and shouted, "Order!" He'd seen them mostly united in triumph as a difficult accord was reached, compromises were worked out, and the lives of their citizens were bettered.

On very rare occasions, he'd even seen the room completely silent. But it'd never been quite like this.

The Speaker was absent. Burrows stood in his place, pale and sunken-faced, light reflecting off of his bald head. The high collar of his shirt made him look taller than he was, and two black silk gloves lay discarded on his lectern by the gavel. 

Geoff had been right; he was indeed dressed in mourning. He was clad in black from collar to boots, with a large white lily pinned to the lapel of his coat. A single leaf had remained attached to the flower, the green painted silver as tradition dictated.

The lily shook now, as Burrows gasped in a shallow, shocked breath. His mouth was open, affording everyone a look at his yellowed teeth and receding gums.

There was little color in the room. All members of Jessamine's Parliament were in black, or at least very dark colors. Some lords wore starched blue or brown shirts, and the Pendleton twins had resorted to dark gray in a kind of protest against the mourning attire.

Several lilies were pinned or tied to their clothing. Some had wilted, others had the silver paint flaking off the leaves. Esma Boyle had taken off hers and put it down on the table before her. Lord Brimsley, who hadn't quite noticed Jessamine's sudden entrance, was toying with the petals of his, frowning when his fingers came away stained yellow by pollen.

"Your majesty!" gasped Lord Murdoch, one meaty hand pressed to his chest. His hair had grayed considerably more during the past three months, and Corvo knew his heart had been troubling him. He sat down heavily, his chair creaking in protest.

Footsteps approached from the corridor. Geoff was the first soldier to stride into the room, calm and assured. Behind him followed five of his best officers, each silent and purposeful as they fanned out through the large room, taking up positions by the windows and pillars.

Gertrude Dobrev raised a shaking hand to point at Jessamine. "A ghost!" she shrieked, her shrill voice echoing through the hall. "A specter, risen from the Void to take her revenge!"

Jessamine pursed her lips in disapproval. She looked like she was hard pressed not to roll her eyes. "I assure you, Lady Dobrev, I am very much alive."

Droplets of sweat beaded on Burrows' forehead and upper lip. He was gripping the edge of his lectern so hard Corvo heard the wood creak. His mouth moved wordlessly, and it took him a long moment to arrange his face into twitching surprise. 

"Your majesty!" he exclaimed, thin and reedy, his composure hanging by a thread. "By some miracle, you have returned to us!"

"Shut your mouth," Jessamine said, almost snapping, her voice like the forbidding crack of a whip. "I'll get to you in a moment."

Burrows gaped at her, then closed his mouth. His pale face flushed a deep, blotchy red.

"Lady Boyle," Jessamine said, looking up towards the bench where Esma sat and stared at her, "though we do not often see eye to eye, I too would like to hear the second gardener's account."

"The City Watch shot one to keep him from talking!" Lord Anderson put in.

Corvo caught a glint of panic in Burrows' eyes. "That is utter _nonsense!"_ he bleated. "Our brave soldiers would never unduly harm a civilian!"

Jessamine's eyes narrowed. "No?" she asked. "Then explain to me why you've given the City Watch leave to murder anyone who so much as sticks their head out of their front door at night."

A droplet of sweat ran down Burrows' temple. There was a pronounced pause.

"Murder?" he sputtered, finally. "The soldiers are blameless, your majesty! They only seek to keep the city safe in these tumultuous times!"

Whispers began to drift through the room. Corvo spotted a few narrowed gazes, some frowns. Burrows glanced around the hall, and for a moment his composure cracked, the raw fear of a hunted animal shining in his eyes. 

"We cannot have every diseased scoundrel roaming our streets at night!" he shouted. "In case you have not noticed, there is a plague ravaging Dunwall!"

"Oh, I've noticed," Jessamine said. "And I have told you before not to talk about those stricken by sickness that way. They deserve our compassion, and medical treatment, not scorn..."

Burrows laughed, a high-pitched, unhinged sound. "Your majesty, I think we are quite beyond discussing rhetoric!"

"They're sick people," Jessamine said, repeating her words from that day, _"not criminals."_

At the gazebo, she'd been baffled by whatever Burrows had said to her in the part of the argument he hadn't heard, incredulously trying to make him see her point. 

Now, she spoke with a cold, focused rage that made the hair on the back of Corvo's neck stand on end. "I will not stand for a single innocent citizen being hunted down and shot like a dog, or wrongfully imprisoned."

"I haven't... there's not... no one's been _hunted down!"_ Burrows protested. He glanced around at the room with a small half-smirk, like he expected members of Parliament to come to his aid and assure Jessamine that this was all a misunderstanding, and that the City Watch had behaved with perfect decorum...

But no one said anything. The large room was silent.

"Indeed?" Jessamine asked with raised eyebrows, in a dangerously soft tone that made Corvo glad she was not speaking to him. "So if I make inquiries, I won't hear about a slew of state-sanctioned killings that happened during the past three days alone?"

There was a short pause. Burrows took several breaths; his frown trembled with distress. His gaze flickered back and forth between Jessamine's eyes in utter disbelief, like he found this so painfully obvious that he couldn't understand how Jessamine could not see it. Finally he said, hoarsely, "They were going to spread the disease!" 

Jessamine shook her head, sharply, just once, like someone chasing away an annoying fly. "And I suppose I also won't hear about you sacking half of my staff."

Burrows opened and closed his mouth. It was like watching a deflating balloon. "They were disturbing the peace..."

A foreboding shiver rushed down Corvo's back. He curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword. 

There was something that came out gradually in people under intense pressure, and he'd seen it before. As some of Burrows' bluster and bravado faded, a gaunt, hunted meanness began to emerge. His lip curled and exposed his teeth, not unlike a snarling dog. People like him became unpredictable when they cracked, ready to erupt into violence...

Jessamine was still speaking. She stood stock still, but she gave the impression of a lioness circling her prey. "And that you threw a gardener into the high security ward of Coldridge Prison..."

"Oh, blast and damn that _stupid_ gardener!" Burrows burst out, his temper lending him some reserves of strength. "You are known to be kind-hearted, your majesty, but you cannot get so caught up in the fate of a single lowly--"

"That man saw what happened that day," Jessamine said, cutting him off. "So did the other gardener whom you had killed. "

Another pause. More sweat beaded on Burrows' forehead. "Why would I have done that?" he asked at last, croaking, in a near-whisper, like his earlier shout had stolen his courage. "There was nothing _to_ see! I--"

Jessamine raised her eyebrows. "No?" she asked, feigning surprise. "What would you say happened on the 18th, Hiram? You were there, after all. You sent the guards away."

Burrows bristled, catching his second wind. He drew himself up. Red spots appeared on his cheeks. "I did not!" he said, loud and indignant. "I would never endanger you like that! Your majesty..."

He took a deep breath and marshaled what little was left of his composure. A facsimile of a smile stretched his thin, bloodless lips. He extended a benevolent hand. "Your majesty," he said again, "you narrowly escaped death that day. While I do not know how you survived, you have _clearly_ gone through incredible hardship." His gaze lingered on her disheveled appearance. "It is no wonder your memory is playing tricks on you..."

Jessamine smiled back. It was a predatory, close-mouthed thing that bore no warmth. "Perhaps," she allowed. "How fortunate, then, that there are witnesses who heard your orders as well," and she glanced towards the back of the hall.

"Indeed," Geoff Curnow spoke up. He took a step forward into the light.

Heads turned and chairs creaked, and a few whispers drifted up to the high ceiling as the assembled court turned to look at him. Some were slower; it seemed to take Lord Brimsley a moment to pinpoint where the new voice came from. His milky eyes didn't quite focus on Geoff.

"My lords, my ladies," Geoff said, with a small bow to the room at large. "I was on shift that morning, as I invite you to verify by viewing the duty rosters. Lord Attano returned from his voyage at roughly eleven o'clock in the morning, and I was sent out to retrieve him from the ship."

General Tobias flinched at the sound of Geoff's voice. He hadn't recovered from seeing Jessamine in the flesh; he'd sat slumped in his chair, face slack and pale. Now a tremor ran through him, and Corvo saw him close his eyes in defeat.

"I escorted him to the Tower," Geoff went on. "The Spymaster said that we should leave the Empress and the Royal Protector alone, and ushered me down the stairs. I protested that it was most unusual to withdraw all guards from the vicinity, and he told me to follow his order." He paused. "A minute later, I heard gunfire." 

"It was clever of you to dispose of the gardeners," Jessamine said to Burrows, almost matter-of-factly. "They saw the assassin. The _real_ assassin." 

She took a breath and glanced around at the room. "Some of you may have heard of a man named Daud."

One of Geoff's officers--a young man, but so proficient with sword and pistol that he'd risen quickly through the ranks--stared at Jessamine, his eyes widening under his mop of red curls, clearly recognizing the name.

Admiral Havelock, who'd seated himself quite far in the back and so far hadn't said anything, sat up abruptly. He didn't speak, but Corvo saw his mouth move in the shape of the assassin's name, and his bushy brows drew together in a frown. 

Burrows clung to his lectern. He was trying and failing to summon an incredulous smile. His gaze darted from Jessamine to Corvo and back again, then lingered briefly with a hateful glint on Geoff. "That isn't..." he protested. "I didn't..."

"You hired him to kill me," Jessamine said. Anger trickled into her voice despite her best efforts. "You sought to remove me by any means necessary, so that you could take control of Dunwall and vanquish the plague as you saw fit, and half the city besides."

"What-- but-- Jessamine, _please!"_ Burrows burst out.

Corvo bristled, his hand clenching around the hilt of his sword. Jessamine didn't seem to care about the overly familiar address. She leaned back a little, and somehow she put Corvo in mind of Sokolov, watching one of his experiments do something mildly unexpected.

Burrows looked up at the rows of assembled nobles. He smiled up at them with tailored incredulity, and spread his hands. "My lords, my ladies, this is preposterous! Have you ever known me to consort with assassins? Why would I ever act against our fair Empress?" He turned to Jessamine. "I have only ever been your loyal servant!"

"Oh, I'm sure we will find proof once we search your office and your house," Jessamine said dismissively. "It is only a matter of time."

Burrow's flush receded, leaving him looking blotchy and unhealthy. His lips trembled. The lily on his lapel shook with his sharp, shallow breaths.

Corvo had seen people crack in Coldridge Prison's interrogation room. He recognized that noiseless snap when a person's composure gave way completely and their control crumbled at their feet.

Something behind Burrows' shrewd eyes shattered. He leaned forward across his lectern and yelled, "You are a soft-hearted, weak-willed _fool!"_

His deranged scream echoed off the high ceiling. Several lords around the room flinched; even Lord Brimsley blinked in surprise. Jessamine stared back at Burrows in silence, her jaw clenched. Corvo only saw her wince because he was standing so close.

Burrows was beyond composure or even his oily manipulations. He was just yelling, his voice cracking hoarsely. "You're too sentimental to master this crisis!" he shouted, pointing a shaking finger at Jessamine. "I knew you wouldn't save us, nor let me take over! Something _had_ to be done!"

Lord Murdoch had his hand over his mouth, his nose wrinkled like he was watching something utterly distasteful. There was a shuffle towards the back of the room as Admiral Havelock tensed, pushing his chair back in response to the sudden aggression. General Tobias didn't react as Havelock jostled him. He just stared down at the table in front of him, a sunken heap.

"You think I am the only one who sees you for the spineless disgrace that you are?" Burrows cackled, high-pitched. "Where do you think I got the funds to finance my plan?!" 

He held out his arms like a circus trainer presenting a new trick. His eyes were bright and manic. "The Boyles' money paid for Daud's services!"

Everyone turned to stare at Esma. She looked back, her face frozen in shock, and Burrows screeched triumphantly, "Lydia Boyle is a wench who was all too eager to open her coffers once I flattered her enough, and commissioned that damn portrait--"

Esma's lips parted, trembling, struck silent. She didn't move; even her forearm remained braced on the table, her pen poised above the pages of the notebook she brought to every Parliament session.

"And let us not forget the Pendletons and their silver mines!" Burrows howled. Spittle flew from his lips. The lily on his lapel quivered and sagged. "Believe me, they fell all over themselves to sell their votes to me! I have never encountered two men more eager to betray their Empress--"

"You selfish _bastard!"_ Custis Pendleton roared.

He jumped up from his seat, although Morgan yanked hard on his sleeve, trying to get his brother to sit back down, but Custis' features were drawn with rage. He started forward, bracing a foot against the table as though he would launch himself bodily at Burrows. The seams of his dark gray suit creaked ominously as Morgan pulled on his arm.

Two guards appeared behind the twins. A heavy hand landed on Custis' shoulder, and the other soldier dispassionately leveled his pistol at Morgan's temple. 

They both froze. The hand on Custis' shoulder pushed him back down into his chair. Then the guard cocked his pistol, the click loud in the silence, and pressed the barrel against the back of Custis' head.

"We were willing to save you all! We were going to cart all the diseased, flea-infested rabble out of the city!" Burrows howled. "And _you,"_ he flung his gesturing hand towards Jessamine, "now you are _back,_ and you have _ruined it all!"_

Custis was white-faced and furious, though he sat carefully still. "You backstabbing old fool, may you rot in the Void!" he hissed through bared teeth. "You won't get away with this!"

"You're quite correct, Lord Pendleton," Jessamine said, almost conciliatory. "He won't."

She'd borne Burrows' tirade with a stony expression. "Hiram Burrows," she said now, loud and steady, "you are under arrest for high treason against the crown, and crimes yet unnumbered." 

Her voice effortlessly filled the room. "Come down now and surrender peacefully. --Captain Curnow?"

"Yes, your majesty," Geoff said calmly. 

He strode down the stairs to meet Burrows, passing through the silent lords, his hand on his holstered pistol. A determined fire burned in his eyes.

Burrows stepped off the lectern like an old man. His knees shook, his booted feet slow and uncertain as though he could barely feel the stairs under his feet. Sweat dampened his collar and ran down his temple. He looked sick, crazed, a thwarted conspirator at the end of his rope.

His steps faltered. For a moment, his right arm was hidden behind the high table. Burrows' chin trembled. A vein pulsed in the middle of his forehead. 

With an inarticulate scream of rage, he lunged forward. A dagger gleamed silver in his hand.

The point of Corvo's sword found a gap between his ribs. It slid in smoothly, piercing first the expensive fabric of his coat, then skin and muscle.

The shudder of impact traveled all the way up to Corvo's shoulder. Burrows gasped wetly. His own momentum pushed the blade further in, and suddenly Corvo was face to face with the man, close enough to see how his watery eyes widened in shock and pain. 

The hall was utterly silent. Nobody screamed or exclaimed in shock. Burrows choked and coughed. He tried to grip Corvo's shoulder, but his fingers just scrabbled weakly at his coat. The lily fell to the floor with a whisper of sound.

The tilting weight pulled on Corvo's sword. Blood frothed at the corners of Burrows' mouth. Corvo lowered his arm and let the dying man's weight bear his blade to the ground, until he felt the tip connect with the cold tiles. 

Burrows took a single, rattling breath. His blood-flecked lips moved, but no words came out. Then his eyes gazed past Corvo, up at the ceiling, and he lay still.

There was a muffled thump as Gertrude Dobrev fainted, falling forward onto the table before sliding half out of her chair.

Cold sweat beaded on the back of Corvo's neck. He realized his breathing was fast and shallow, almost gasping. He pulled his sword out of Burrows' chest at an angle, deepening and opening the stab wound. More blood trickled out onto the floor, wetting the expensive fabric of his suit.

There was something immensely satisfying about seeing the dark red puddle ooze slowly out of Burrows' clothing. He'd been helpless against Daud... but now there was no green fog to bind him. If nothing else, he could still dispose of the puppeteer behind it all, and be more than an unwilling, useless passenger as the Empire's fate turned around him...

He braced his heel against Burrows' ribs to pull his sword the rest of the way out. His breath came in hisses through his teeth, and he struggled for control, shying away from the grim pride that burned like a cursed coal in his chest. 

The silence stretched. Burrows' body was sprawled on the floor, so there was no dripping or trickling as more of his blood left his body--slowly, no longer pumped onwards by his heart.

"Morgan and Custis Pendleton," Geoff said calmly, as though nothing had happened. "you are likewise under arrest." 

Corvo's heartbeat thundered in his ears. He felt ill now, and like the floor was tilting a little, unbalancing him. He forced himself to look at Jessamine, who hadn't jumped back or ran to the door as he'd thought she would...

She'd half-raised her hands on instinct to ward off Burrows' attack. They still hovered by her waist, frozen and pale.

Regret choked him, stopped his breath and dropped a cold weight into his stomach. He didn't care about Burrows' cooling corpse on the floor, but he _hated_ that Jessamine had had to see that. She'd watched him take a life just a few feet away... she'd heard Burrows' dying gasps, seen him claw ineffectively at Corvo's shoulder, probably smelled the coppery salt of his blood...

Corvo made himself look up until he could see her face. Jessamine's eyes were wide and startled, but dry. Her chin trembled a little, but she looked back at him, her blue gaze startlingly direct.

He took a few slow steps towards her. Jessamine didn't flinch. She lowered her hands, and the shaking thing behind her eyes settled a little, the crack in her composure sealing over with thin new skin.

Corvo bowed. He didn't know what else to do. His right hand wanted to apologize--his wrist ached with it, the urge to rub frantic circles with his trembling fist on his chest... He forced his hand to clasp over his heart instead in his customary gesture of respect, then stepped back and to her side. 

As soon as he was behind her, sound rushed back into his ears. There where mutters and shouts echoing through the room; several nobles had stood up to stare at Burrows' fallen form, craning their necks to lay eyes on the blood.

"--cannot do this!" Morgan Pendleton was shouting, trying to struggle out of the soldier's hold. "Unhand us! I'll have your heads for this!"

Strangely, Custis was silent and deflated, as though Morgan had absorbed his energy and now carried it. His eyes flashed furiously, and his hair was in disarray, a patch of skin on his cheekbone reddening: perhaps one guard had struck him as he'd attempted to escape.

"Silence," Geoff commanded. "Her majesty will determine what to be done with you later."

Lady Gertrude was shakily sitting up, aided by Lord Anderson. "Hang them!" she slurred. A few seats away, Admiral Havelock actually chuckled weakly.

The guards were unimpressed with Morgan's protests. They marched the twins towards the door, which another soldier opened obligingly, and Custis' feet stumbled over the threshold. Then they were out of sight, and Morgan's shouting faded down the corridor.

***

Levering an inert body around was harder than it looked. It took three of Geoff's men to carry Burrows' corpse out of the hall. His head lolled limply back, hanging off one of the soldiers' arms. Fortunately, the blood around his mouth had mostly dried, so it didn't run grotesquely up his sunken cheeks.

His eyes were still half-open in death. For Jessamine's sake, who stood ramrod straight and outwardly unwavering, Corvo wished one of the soldiers had had the presence of mind to wipe them closed.

As soon as the door closed, Jessamine let out a small sigh. Relief loosened her shoulders.

Corvo thought she would walk up to the lectern and take Burrows' place, or even just go sit in her regular chair, high-backed and facing the door directly, now draped in shimmering black cloth in deference to her supposed murder. A bouquet of white lilies had been placed on the seat, the stems and leaves painted silver, spreading their sweet, cloying scent through the hall.

But she just stood there, staring at the puddle of blood. The guards had smeared it around trying to lift Burrows, and one of them had stepped in it. A trail of singular, imperfect bootprints led to the door.

Jessamine's face was hewn from stone. She hardly appeared to be breathing. Corvo eyed the puddle with some shame. It wouldn't have been as large if he hadn't rooted around in Burrows' wound like some vengeful mercenary...

Lord Brimsley was on his feet, though he had to hold on to the back of his chair for support. His wispy white hair floated around his head in wild disarray. "Lady Emily!" he said urgently. "Is she safe? Hiram said--"

The still remoteness of Jessamine's face cracked open. The hard, unforgiving lines of her expression softened. "My daughter is well," she said. "Thank you, Lord Brimsley."

Brimsley sighed in relief. He sat back down with a thump, his eyes crinkling in a tired smile.

The interjection revived her. Jessamine looked around the room and shook herself a little, like one waking from a dream. She sucked in a slow, deep breath, and Corvo could almost see her focus returning as she drew responsibility around her shoulders like a cloak.

"My lords, my ladies," she said. She opened her hands, addressing the hall as a whole. "This is a time of crisis and great strife, and at any other time, I would spend all day explaining to you what truly happened, and get to the bottom of this conspiracy."

Her jaw clenched. Her gaze, as she swept it across her silent court, was lined with steel. "But I _must_ see to the safety of my most vulnerable citizens first. I must make sure that the curfew is lifted and that the sick and dying get the medical care they need."

Lady Gertrude was staring at Corvo. Her graying hair was tousled from her fainting spell, her eyes wide and watery and fixed unerringly on him. She looked older than the last time Corvo had seen her. Her pinned-up hair was devoid of jewels, and there was no make-up brightening her wrinkled cheeks.

Lord Murdoch cleared his throat. He was dabbing at his sweaty face with a large handkerchief, and the buttons of his waistcoat strained under his harsh breathing. Strangely, though he'd just witnessed a man's gruesome death, he seemed less in danger of keeling over now than he had when Jessamine had first entered the room.

"Your majesty," he said weakly, mustering up a smile. "It is truly, _truly_ a delight to see you... you would not believe the chaos that has erupted in your absence..."

"Thank you, Lord Murdoch," Jessamine said, a little impatient. Her posture didn't change, but Corvo saw her feet shuffle restlessly. She was chomping at the bit to go to her office, send out letters and orders and save those she could...

"Let us work quickly now." Jessamine looked up towards the back of the hall. "There's no time to lose. Admiral Havelock..."

Lady Gertrude was still looking at Corvo. Sweat dampened her hairline from her fainting spell, but her eyes were bright and alert again. She said, "He told us _you_ killed the Empress."

"Outsider's eyes," somebody muttered. A few lords turned to look at her in askance. Others actually sighed in exasperation.

Corvo stared at her, not quite understanding what she'd said. Burrows had--? 

Jessamine pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hiram Burrows lied about many things," she said sharply. "There's--"

"The whole City Watch has been looking for you!" Lady Gertrude interrupted, building up steam. She looked around triumphantly, basking in the attention and the stares. She even reached out a shaking finger to point at Corvo. "He said you'd murdered Jessamine and abducted Lady Emily, and he offered a reward of 30,000 coins for your capture..." 

Corvo's mouth dropped open in shock. Lady Gertrude winced at the sight, and he quickly snapped it shut again, hard enough to make his teeth clack painfully. 

He couldn't breathe. Something stoppered up his lungs, trapping stale air in his chest. A chill crept into his fingers and toes. The puzzle pieces slid together, overheard remarks forming a horrifying image. Burrows had said--? They'd believed that _he--?_

_"Enough,"_ Jessamine snarled.

His heart pounded so harshly that his vision shuddered with it. Corvo looked down, and realized that Jessamine's hand was on his arm, squeezing, though how it'd gotten there, Corvo didn't know. Her fingers looked pale and slender against the dark fabric of his coat. 

"Lord Attano saved my life," she said, flinty-eyed, in a tone that brooked no argument. She didn't seem surprised or taken aback. "If it hadn't been for him, I would not be standing here today."

Corvo flinched. He couldn't help it. That wasn't-- that wasn't _true,_ it was his counterpart who'd saved Jessamine and Emily, Attano with his cocky smirk and red coat, throwing himself across time and space to do what Corvo couldn't...

"I knew it," Lord Brimsley said quietly. Lord Murdoch was nodding along.

Lady Gertrude's face fell almost comically. "Oh," she said, then sat back down, subdued. To herself she muttered, "Great, now I owe my handmaiden twenty coins..."

Next to her, Lord Anderson let out a beleaguered sigh.

"If we are _quite_ done stalling," Jessamine said, with a glare at Lady Gertrude, "Admiral Havelock, please report to my office in half an hour's time."

"Yes, your majesty," the Admiral said. He stood up and bowed to her, his sword clinking at his belt.

Jessamine's hand rested on Corvo's arm for a moment, then slid off. He took a wavering breath and tried to choke it all down--he felt several nobles still looking at him, doubtful and oddly satisfied by turns, like he'd just performed an impressive new maneuver with his sword... 

This wasn't the time to feel like something in his chest had splintered and burst. He swallowed several times, his stomach roiling with horror and anger--Burrows had told them _he_ had killed Jessamine...? 

How dare he make a pawn of him, painting him as a traitor to his Empress? Hadn't he known that Corvo would rather hack off his own sword arm than ever, _ever_ hurt her?

His molars hurt from gritting his teeth so hard. He carefully unclenched his jaw, and some of the hot-cold rush of fury and disgust faded. His heart hammered against his ribs. 

It was likely that Burrows _had_ known, and hadn't thought anything of pinning his vile plot on Corvo. Such was the way of a conspiracy. Corvo had returned from his voyage two days early, and it was only logical that he'd been swept up in the churn of Burrows' plans... 

He took a step back, back to his customary position behind Jessamine. Lady Gertrude gave him a sullen look. Lord Brimsley was beaming at him, his eyes crinkling with unabashed delight, quite unperturbed by the drying puddle of blood on the floor.

"I ask that all of you please refrain from traveling in the near future," Jessamine said. Her palms were bared again, fingers spread in entreaty, but her eyes held a commanding glint. "Our city needs us now. We will speak again very soon, once I've made sure the citizens are as safe as they can be."

She paused for a moment, ostensibly to allow objections. The silence remained unbroken. So Jessamine cleared her throat and said, "In absence of a Speaker, I declare Parliament adjourned."

A general murmur of voices went up. The sounds of expensive shifting fabric filled the hall as lords and ladies shifted and rose. Chairs scraped against the floor. 

Now that people were getting up, conversing quietly or just stretching limbs that'd sat idle for too long, the amount of black clothing in the room seemed larger. The white blossoms and silver-painted stems of lilies were everywhere, peeking out from behind coat lapels and tucked into women's buttonholes. 

Lady Gertrude heaved a sigh, pouting, then stood up; perhaps she was still sore about the money her bet had lost her. Lord Anderson was scribbling something in his slim leather notebook, a deep frown between his eyebrows.

Admiral Havelock had finally noticed General Tobias' limp, sallow-faced shock. He was trying to talk to him, a suspicious frown firmly in place. The General struggled to rouse himself, and stop staring at Jessamine with barely-veiled hatred in his eyes, but couldn't quite manage to yank his gaze off the Empress.

Jessamine turned towards Corvo, facing the door. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, her eyes far away as she already honed in on her next task. Their gazes met briefly, but before Corvo could fall into step behind her, a shrill voice tore through the quieter murmurs.

"Your majesty!"

Esma Boyle was white-faced, her nostrils flaring. She hurried down the stairs towards them, nearly tripping over the hem of her skirt, and didn't so much as glance at the blood on the floor. 

Lord Murdoch, who was closest, drew back from her approach with narrowed eyes, like she bore some contagious disease. Whispers followed in her wake.

"Your majesty," she croaked, then cleared her throat and tried again. "Your majesty..."

For a moment, with no one but Corvo to see her face, Jessamine closed her eyes. The tendons in her neck corded tight with tension. She visibly held back a snarl of pure impatience, then smoothed her face back into a blank, austere mask, and turned around.

"Lady Boyle," she acknowledged coolly. "Speak."

Esma wrung her hands. Her eyes were damp and red-rimmed. There was a sick, sallow cast to her complexion, and her painted lips quivered as she struggled for breath.

Corvo didn't think he'd ever seen her so distraught. The eldest Lady Boyle had an infamously unshakable constitution, which cracked only sometimes in the company of her younger, more carefree sisters. Corvo had heard that the late Lord Boyle had raised his firstborn as he would have a son, and as a result Esma was always calm and collected, a worthy adversary in the bloodied waters of Dunwall's politics.

Esma spoke in a rush. She didn't seem to care who overheard, or that there were some nobles looking at her shaking shoulders with barely disguised glee.

"My sister-- leave her to me," she said. Her voice cracked. "I-- I beg of you, your majesty. I will deal with her. I'll send her away, I'll-- just, _please..."_

Jessamine leveled a long, silent look at Esma. She didn't seem surprised. Her blue eyes were piercing and sharp, pinning Esma with a searching, unforgiving stare.

The heel of Esma's left shoe was touching the puddle of blood, smearing rusty red onto the tiles. It didn't look like she cared. She hardly appeared to be breathing at all.

"She will confess!" she said shrilly, her eyes wide and wild. "I'll make her tell the truth! She will tell you everything she can about Burrows and his plans!"

A pause. Esma clutched at her own hands, squeezing her fingers so hard her knuckles went white.

"Make sure she does not try to run," Jessamine said finally, picking out each word with slow care. "I will send over a patrol to escort her to Coldridge Prison, where she will be questioned."

Esma gasped in a breath. She swayed on her feet, and her left shoe slid further into the puddle, though she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes welled up with tears, surprisingly bright and vulnerable in a face that Corvo had only ever known to look shrewd or coolly composed.

"Thank you," she choked out. She pressed one hand to her chest, struggling for control. "Thank you, your majesty, I... thank you."

With a start, Corvo realized Esma had thought Jessamine would order Lydia to be killed immediately. Which was not to say that she wouldn't do that, of course--Corvo had seen Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin execute traitors for less. But at least it was a momentary reprieve.

"I must get going," Jessamine said, barely managing to suppress her impatient restlessness. "We can discuss everything else once I've made sure that no more people will die needlessly in the streets today."

Two tears rolled down Esma's cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, took a step back and bowed to Jessamine, then withdrew. Just before she turned away, Corvo saw her expression crumble, one hand rising to her mouth to hide her trembling chin.

Jessamine tugged on the cuffs of her rolled-up sleeves, hiding a sigh. Her gaze fell on Morgan and Custis' empty seats.

"And summon the youngest Lord Pendleton to my office," she added, while she turned back to the door and strode past Corvo. "I have some news he should hear."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in _Seven Magpies_ (which is where all these OCs are from), Tiberius Hendricks is Jessamine's steward, not her secretary, though he does spend a lot of time in her office. For the purpose of _Butterfly,_ I wanted to spare y'all a long-winded explanation of the Victorian-inspired aristocratic household management I've cobbled together for the Tower, so I've downgraded him to a secretary here. I'm pretty sure he'd be pissed. :D
> 
> Also, allow me to ruin the moment with [this photo](https://cheezburger.com/5236760320/soon), which I always think of when a character says or thinks, "Soon." It's made me laugh really hard in the middle of writing the angstiest scenes & if I have to bear this burdensome association then so does everyone else.
> 
> Is this A/N now as long as it would've been if I had gone for the full household explanation? Yes. Is it silly to talk about 7M although it's so far from finished/posted? Probably also yes. /o\ I hope you have fun reading this chapter! We're in the home stretch now & I'm excited!

It was a long, exhausting day.

In some ways, it was almost exactly like Corvo had imagined. They endured a hurried, bumpy carriage ride to the Tower, and the news that the Empress was alive were already spreading like a wildfire. He spotted clusters of citizens out the windows, gathering and whispering, pointing at the carriage with its small entourage of officers on horseback.

One soldier towards the front of their little caravan occasionally shouted, "Make way! Let the Empress through!" and apparently his countenance was commanding enough that their progress through the city remained unimpeded and the coachman could keep the horses trotting fast.

Dunwall Tower looked almost the same. The Kaldwin banners were draped in black for mourning, but as Corvo watched, some of the shrouds were drawn away by servants perched on the balustrades. 

Blue fabric soaked up the morning sunlight. The embroidered swans of Jessamine and her father's coat of arms shone a triumphant gold. Servants bundled away the heavy black fabric, and though they were too far away to make out their expressions, Corvo thought their gestures looked decisive, resolute. 

Down in the Estate District, the Clocktower tolled half past nine, and Corvo realized with a distinct feeling of unreality that just over an hour had passed since they'd burst through the doors of the Parliament chamber. It felt like much longer.

The street was indeed covered in flowers. Their scent enveloped them, overwhelming and floral. It stuck to the back of Corvo's throat, a sticky, almost nauseating sweetness past its prime, the smell of wilted petals beginning to rot. 

A knot of soldiers bore Jessamine from the carriage to the back entrance. Inside, they were greeted by a small cluster of servants and guards. The servants were wide-eyed with disbelief, gaping at Jessamine as though she were indeed a ghost. Corvo recognized Mrs. Roberts, the housekeeper, who had both chubby hands covering her mouth, nearly tearful. 

The soldiers all bowed to Jessamine, and two rushed out immediately to aid their colleagues in securing the street. 

It was a relief to be inside, out of the open. Corvo's fist, which had been clenched painfully hard around the hilt of his sword, relaxed. He was no longer on his own: Geoff's men were trustworthy and efficient, and they would all throw themselves between their Empress and danger. 

Though she insisted that there was no time, two maidservants rushed Jessamine briefly up to her private chambers. Their eyes were bright and damp as they exclaimed over their returned Empress, and the older one actually took Jessamine's hands in hers before remembering herself and taking a hasty step back. The other maidservant exclaimed over the state of Jessamine's shoes, and somewhere in the whirl of their black, old-fashioned skirts and white aprons, Jessamine's protests faded as they ushered her up the stairs.

She came back down barely fifteen minutes later, with one maidservant trailing after her. "Your majesty, your hair--!" she exclaimed, apparently despairing at the thought of the Empress going down to her office like this. 

Jessamine's simple bun did droop a bit, but she didn't seem to notice. She'd been hastily clad in a pair of finely cut trousers and a loose-fitting blouse made of flowing blue fabric, the collar and cuffs trimmed in gold. 

She waved dismissively over her shoulder, her strides never faltering. Her eyes now held that same hardened resolve from the Parliament building, promising lasting misfortune to anyone who now stood between her and her duty. 

Somehow, on their way to her office, they acquired quite an audience. Parlor maids stuck their heads out of several rooms to catch a glimpse of their Empress, eyes wide, holding various cleaning supplies. 

Servants stood around by the unassuming doors to the servants' quarters to watch them pass. They whispered among themselves; Corvo recognized several faces, but many were unknown to him, likely due to Burrows' impulsive culling of the Empress' household.

A small entourage of Geoff's soldiers followed behind Corvo. The housekeeper brought up the rear. She was more composed now, and beaming brightly at Jessamine's back, like she'd forgotten there was still a dangerous illness ravaging the streets.

Corvo hid a small smile. Mrs. Roberts wasn't the only one who was relieved that the Empress had returned. There was something _right_ about seeing Jessamine back in the Tower's halls, a dislodged puzzle piece slotting back into place.

***

Jessamine's office was largely undisturbed. Apparently Burrows hadn't had enough time to wreak havoc here… with one notable exception.

Corvo thought he hid his double-take quite well, though he felt several assessing stares hot on the back of his neck. The painting that'd adorned the wall behind Jessamine's desk was down, propped up against her desk. 

In its place hung a poster. Some of the black ink had smeared a little, like it'd been printed in a great hurry. Corvo's scowling countenance looked down at the room, above a short paragraph of text promising a hefty reward for the capture and arrest of the Empress' murderer. 

Jessamine paused in the doorway. She spent a moment staring in disbelief, her eyes narrowed to thin slits. Then she marched over to the wall and tore the poster down. 

The paper tore at the top, a long scrap sticking where it'd been hastily glued to the wall. Jessamine yanked the bottom half free, taking some wallpaper with her, then wadded up the thick paper and stuffed the crinkling, unwieldy lump into the trash bin beside her desk. 

She turned to the housekeeper, breathing hard with exertion. Her face was flushed. In a tightly controlled voice she said, "Please have someone hang the painting back up."

"Yes, your majesty," said Mrs. Roberts, bowing, then hurried away. 

Her skirts slapped against the opening door in her haste, and she barely dodged the arriving Admiral Havelock, who leaped out of her way with an undignified yelp.

Then it was a constant stream of people going in and out, bearing correspondence, stacks of paper, and news. Over the course of the afternoon, Jessamine's office was beleaguered by aides and officers and more servants than Corvo had seen in days.

He took up residence at his customary place by the door. After three months of traveling, it was strange to be back here. The office hadn't changed much in his absence; perhaps one of the dressers was a bit untidier, and her secretary's desk was more laden with piles of paper than usual. But if it hadn't been for the changed season outside, the dark green treetops of late summer instead of spring's first bright, leafy sprouts, no time might have passed at all. 

Jessamine steered herself through the tumultuous day with single minded determination. Her voice rang out with clear authority. Her bun drooped more and more, and some strands of hair escaped the maidservants' hurried work, but she only barely paused to tuck them behind her ears. Corvo was sure she would have sat behind her desk in rags or draped with only a bedsheet. Nothing was going to stop her from starting to undo the damage Burrows had done. 

The only time she lost her temper was some time after three, when she received an updated report on Burrows' plans to curb the spread of the sickness. 

A group of aides returned to the Tower with material from Burrows' house, a stately but narrow home in the Estate District. Jessamine was silent and attentive as she leafed through most of it, but at one point her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed with anger.

"'The Boldest Measures Are the Safest'?!" she snapped, and the man who'd handed her that specific folder quailed and all but ran out the door. "This is-- but-- he _cannot_ have been serious!"

"I'm afraid he was, your majesty," said Mr. Hendricks, her secretary who had slid seamlessly back into his regular duties, and reacquired his unshakable composure.

She turned a few pages, crinkling the paper in her grip. "'Plague wagons,' he called them," she said through white lips. "He had it all planned. He was going to round them up like cattle to be slaughtered and... and _dispose_ of them. In the Flooded District."

Corvo stared at her, a cold rush of disbelief trickling down his back. _Plague wagons?_ Wasn't it bad enough that Burrows had thrown the families of the sick and dying out of their homes? He imagined a crowd, feverish and coughing, being herded onto electric carriages...

Jessamine sat very still, looking down at the papers. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. She didn't appear to be breathing.

"How many are dead?" she asked mechanically, pushing each word out like they pained her. 

Hendricks sighed and lowered his own papers, pinching the bridge of his nose just under his glasses. "Your majesty--"

"How. Many."

The secretary subsided. A tense silence fell. Jessamine stared silently at Hendricks, and the uncompromising steel in her eyes made Corvo wince though she wasn't even looking his way.

Jessamine shook herself a little, and when she spoke again she was calmer. "Find out," she instructed. "Bring me a list of everyone, every _single_ citizen of Dunwall, who perished in the past three days, whether from an untreated case of the plague or the City Watch's tyranny."

"Yes, your majesty," Hendricks said. 

She pressed her lips into a thin line. A tremor raced along her jaw, but her grip on her composure held firm. She waited a moment until she could trust her voice again, then said to a nearby guard, "Fetch Captain Curnow."

***

Geoff arrived almost as though by supernatural means; perhaps he'd overheard his name being said from somewhere out in the Tower's vast, echoing corridors.

When he bowed to Jessamine, Corvo saw that he looked better than he had. His hair was neatly combed back, exposing the gray streaks at his temples, and he gave no sign that his injury, hidden under his shirt and coat, pained him. It was still obvious to one who knew him that he hadn't slept last night, but his shoulders were squared, his eyes sharp and alert as Jessamine relayed her orders to him.

"I'm afraid Lord Attano would not let me hear the end of it if I sent you away personally," she said with a glance at Corvo, "but you are to treat this as a matter of utmost importance."

Geoff inclined his head. "Yes, your majesty."

"I want you to gather your best and most trustworthy men. Send a patrol to every hospital and infirmary in Dunwall, every almshouse, and locate those that were thrown out of their homes. Assure them that their property remains theirs."

She hesitated, her nostrils flaring as she bit back some choice words about Burrows' methods. "Your officers are to speak to every physician and surgeon they can get ahold of, and make extensive lists of supplies and medicine whose distribution may have been... _hindered..._ in the past days."

"Yes, your majesty," Geoff said. Tight lines formed around his mouth, but he didn't look surprised.

Jessamine paused again. Her hands rested on the desk, ostensibly calm, but Corvo spotted the strain around her whitening knuckles as she pressed her palms flat to the table. "It appears that Burrows' plans to cull the spread of the plague were more inhumane than we thought." 

Her words were carefully chosen and controlled. "If your men hear of any planned transportation of the sick, such as to the Flooded District, you must put an immediate stop to those proceedings. Allow no one, not a single still-living patient, to be carted away."

Geoff's eyebrows rose. It took him a moment to put the pieces together, then a queasy look passed across his features. "It shall be done, your majesty," he said. Something fierce and grim burned in his eyes.

He bowed again, then hurried away, and out in the corridor Corvo heard him bark, "Lindholm, with me!"

The redheaded young officer Corvo had noticed before ran past the door to answer the summons. A moment later, two sets of hurried footsteps departed down the hall.

***

And on and on it went, until Corvo lost count of how many people had flitted in and out of Jessamine's office. At least he could be relatively sure she was safe in here. Geoff had set up checkpoints through the Tower, and every one who walked through the door next to Corvo had been searched for weapons multiple times.

There were even some lesser nobles among the crowds. They'd come to come to simpler at her, declaring how _glad_ they were that she was alive, and what a _terrible_ thing Burrows had done, and was it _true_ that he was dead? 

Jessamine had no patience for them. She sent them all away, repeating firmly that this was no time for pleasantries, and that she had to serve her citizens, who were worse off. More than one courtier left her office in a huff, barely dodging Hendricks as he brought in a fresh round of reports. 

The housekeeper herself carried up a tray of cakes and biscuits, and hovered by Jessamine's side until she impatiently shoved one into her mouth. Mrs. Roberts nodded, satisfied, and retreated. Jessamine kept writing, chewing quickly.

The shadows lengthened. Seagulls cawed outside, their hoarse cries echoing across the courtyard. The wind carried the sound of small ships on the Wrenhaven, their motors sputtering and rattling as they fought the currents.

At one point, someone tapped him on the arm. It was Geoff, offering him some apple cider with what smelled like just about half a spoonful of whiskey.

Any more alcohol would surely have put him to sleep, but this might actually revive his spirits. Corvo took the glass with a nod of thanks. A chill seeped through his hand; the cider had to be fresh from the kitchens. He took a sip, and only then did he notice how thirsty he was. He downed the whole glass in a few gulps, the cider refreshingly tart and sweet.

He wiped his mouth and glanced at Geoff, who was watching the window. The sky was beginning to turn golden, the bright blue acquiring a warm undertone. A few small white clouds drifted slowly in the wind.

How Geoff had made it through the day on so little sleep, Corvo didn't know. His friend was half a decade older than him, but his constitution was still sturdy and reliable. If Geoff was possessed by the same splitting headache Corvo got when sleep-deprived, he didn't show it.

He waited til Geoff looked at him, then smiled. _'I thought I was supposed to buy you a drink.'_

Geoff blinked, yanked out of some distant thoughts. "What?"

_'You said you wanted a drink when this was all over,'_ Corvo signed, stretching out one flat hand and making a chopping motion at his fingertips with the other. _'As compensation for all the times I have lied to you about...'_ He glanced at Jessamine, who was presently pacing back and forth across her office, dictating a letter to Hendricks.

"Oh," Geoff said, following his gaze. He shrugged. "Well, buy me two drinks then."

He folded his hands behind his back. Jessamine was done dictating, and read Hendricks' neat handwriting over for errors. At last she nodded and brandished her fountain pen, leaning over to sign the letter.

_'I am racking up quite the debt,'_ Corvo remarked. He smiled at Geoff, meaning it as a joke, but Geoff's eyes widened a little, then he shook his head.

"Not debt," Geoff said fiercely. "Only a wager between friends."

Corvo paused, surprised by his friend's fervor. Geoff looked steadily back. There was some discomfort in the tense set of his shoulders, as ever when discussion turned to feelings, but he wasn't deflecting. Corvo touched the tips of his fingers to his chin, then drew them slowly away.

Geoff huffed and looked away, but a smile curled the corner of his mouth. "Don't thank me," he said. "You'd think I'd released you from a life-long burden." A pause. "I still wouldn't say no to a drink at the Hound Pits."

Caught up in a sudden surge of affection for his friend, Corvo bumped their shoulders together. _'You shall have your drink,'_ he promised. _'As soon as the plague permits regular outings again.'_

***

The gardener was introduced to Jessamine as Mr. Albert Simmons, and he looked utterly stunned to be in the Empress' presence.

He had the squinty-eyed, vaguely teary look of one who'd spent several days in a very dark cell. His thinning hair was tangled and greasy. He filled the room with an odor of old sweat and fear, but Jessamine nevertheless looked at him with a small smile of approval.

"I didn't see much, your majesty," the gardener said nervously, turning his sun-bleached hat over and over in his hands. His wrists were red and raw from the shackles. "I was just prunin' the hedge, it grows like a weed in the summer, it does, it needs constant attention... it's a lovely hedge!" he insisted, as though someone had made a vehement protest. "Very dense foliage, beautiful green... a boon for any garden, surely..."

"It's alright, Mr. Simmons," Jessamine said gently. "In your own time, just tell us what you did see."

The man sighed and tugged on a frayed thread that poked out of his hat. His hands shook. He swallowed several times, his gaze darting nervously around the room, then finally spoke.

"I was leanin' over the balustrade to get at those pesky fresh sprouts," Mr. Simmons explained. "I wouldn'ta seen 'em otherwise. But there were-- well, there were some men on the roof. All in black, you see, and wearing those masks... the stuff of nightmares, especially when they just-- winked out of existence." He waved his hat. "Poof, gone, and then they were upon you..."

He trailed off, looking around worriedly as though fearing one of Daud's lackeys might melt out of the wallpaper of the Empress' office and attack him. He'd scrunched up his hat between both fists now, deforming it into a bundle of fabric.

"They were indeed," Jessamine said calmly. "Please carry on."

Mr. Simmons licked his lips. "Well, one of 'em caught Cor-- the Royal Protector," he corrected himself hastily, "in somethin' green. It was like thinned cigar smoke, except not... one grabbed Lady Emily, and the one in red-- well, he struck you, your majesty," he said, apologetic.

Jessamine just inclined her head in assent, giving no sign that she felt everyone stare at the fading bruise on her cheek. "And then?"

A small, depreciating smile twisted Mr. Simmons' lips. "Then I almost fell off the balustrade, your majesty. Heard gunshots and the sounds of a fight..." 

He shook his head, sighing. "I hid in the hedge, your majesty. Caught a glimpse of you going down the stairs. I was just thinkin' about coming out, but then that soldier shot Martin..."

His watery eyes drifted from Jessamine to Corvo and back. When neither of them gave any sign of knowing whom he was talking about, he said, "Martin Locke. A great gardener, he was... he had a way with the flower beds that was unreal. He always made the hydrangeas bloom brighter than anyone else."

He took a shaky breath. "The whole gardens were swarming with soldiers. Got myself arrested, I did, though for what I still don't know. They clapped me in irons anyway. Threw me into that cell, and I thought I was done for..."

He subsided. His chin trembled under its dark gray stubble.

Jessamine remained frozen for a moment, then stirred and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Mr. Simmons," she said gravely. "This was most helpful. Would you be prepared to repeat what you just told me in front of more witnesses?"

Mr Simmons sniffled. He wiped his eyes with his hat. "Certainly, your majesty."

"Thank you." Jessamine gave him a smile. "You have endured a great and unfair hardship. I'm sure you are eager to return to your wife and son..."

The gardener nodded. "I am, yes," he said quietly. "I..."

"I have dispatched a patrol of the City Watch to escort you home. They will patrol your street to make sure you are safe, just in case Burrows has allies we have not yet uncovered."

"Yes, your majesty," Simmons said, a little dazed. It didn't look like he'd thought about that at all. "I-- thank you..."

At least he'd released his hat from his tight hold. He absently smoothed out the rim, glancing cautiously around the room, like he feared a spectator would scoff at the Empress' kind words to a mere gardener. 

"It is the least I can do," Jessamine replied, smiling. "Your testimony will be quite helpful in the coming days."

Simmons stood up a little straighter. It could have been Corvo's imagination, but he thought a new, small spark of confidence lit his watery eyes.

***

"Lord Attano," Jessamine said, right when the Clocktower tolled five, "I have orders for you."

Her voice and the distant bells startled Corvo out of a mild daze produced by standing still for too long. He blinked quickly, refocusing his attention with some effort.

An hour ago, Hendricks had opened both windows, after a brief, mutinous staring contest with Corvo who would have preferred for them to remain shut. The scents of late summer drifted into the room; the wilting flowers that lined the back street, and dry pavement that'd baked in the sun all day.

He strode over to Jessamine's desk, which was now piled high with papers and folders. She beckoned him closer, her other hand rubbing gently at her forehead where a headache had to be blooming. She looked tired and worn.

"Corvo," she said quietly, for his ears only. "Will you please go check on Emily? I can't..." she gestured helplessly at the chaos on her desk, biting her lip in frustration.

Corvo understood. No matter how dedicated she was to steering Dunwall single-handedly back into safer waters, she was not just an Empress; she was also a mother.

_'Of course,'_ Corvo told her, tapping his right middle and index finger onto the back of his left hand. He bowed, and was rewarded with a small smile from Jessamine.

"Thank you," she sighed. Her gaze drifted across her desk, then over to Hendricks' desk, which was likewise buried under a deluge of paper. "It'll be easier to focus on all this when I know she is well..."

"Your majesty," Hendricks interrupted, striding up to her desk. He waved a single sheet of thick, expensive paper, with the weight of a wax seal dragging down the lower half. "I have a first response from Treavor Pendleton. It's hastily written, but he doesn't appear to have been drunk when he penned it..."

"Give it here," Jessamine said, distracted, and reached for the letter. Corvo withdrew to the door, then stepped out into the hallway.

A group of soldiers stood there, conversing quietly. They carried swords and pistols, and their gazes were sharp, drifting up and down the corridor and lingering on the darker corners

Geoff had summoned some of his finest to watch over the door to Jessamine's office. Reassured that she would by no means be left defenseless in his absence, Corvo made his way upstairs.

***

Emily was in the small drawing room where she played and read. It had started out as a kind of classroom; the tutors Jessamine hired had insisted that it would be good for her young mind to have a specific room dedicated to studying and learning. So Jessamine had ordered some servants to clear out the room next to Emily's bedroom, putting in couches and bookshelves and a spacious desk.

Over time it'd become something more than just a classroom. More and more of Emily's toys had migrated into it, and some of her drawings adorned the walls. Her collection of dolls watched placidly over her lessons. 

Her nanny was present, too. Mrs. Ferguson had parked her portly frame on her favorite couch and was doing small, neat stitches of embroidery; the only sign that she'd been summoned in a hurry was that her gray hair was less perfectly curled than usual.

There was a smaller hoop in Emily's lap. It looked like she had made a few messy, half-hearted stitches, then lost interest.

"Corvo?" Emily said, half-rising from the armchair. Her embroidery project tumbled to the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were wide and rimmed in red, her cheeks blotchy, like she'd been crying. 

Alarm shot through him, a potent rush of cold foreboding-- he bowed, keeping an eye on her as she stumbled to her feet, but she appeared unhurt. 

"Corvo!" Emily's eyes welled up with tears. She tripped over her hoop, undeterred by the crunch of splintering wood, rushed around the table, and threw herself at him. 

Corvo had barely enough time to kneel and catch her. Emily seized fistfuls of his coat, all but scrambling onto his lap. She wound her arms around his neck and began to cry.

"I _hate_ him!" she cried, between great heaving breaths. "I hate him, he's horrible, he-- I want him to drown in the _Void!_ He's terrible and nasty and mean..."

Corvo realized she shook not with fear or desolation, but anger. Her gasps were more those of a fit of temper than tears of despair, though she sniffled and Corvo distinctly felt her wipe her nose off on his shoulder. She pressed her tirade out through her teeth, then slumped a little against him, sucking in gulping breaths.

He hugged her close and rubbed a hand slowly up and down her back, trying to soothe her. His heart ached, but he was glad he'd arrived when he had: he would rather Emily use his coat as an oversized handkerchief than have her sitting stiffly on the couch, trying not to cry. 

"I _hate_ him," Emily blubbered. She loosened one of her clenched fists, and Corvo sighed in relief when she freed a handful of his hair and held on to his collar instead.

He jostled her gently, since his hands were occupied--he couldn't ask her aloud whom she was so angry with. 

Emily understood him without words, though. "The _Spymaster!"_ she burst out. "He's, he's _ruined_ the entrance hall!"

"It's nothing that cannot be fixed, my lady," Mrs. Ferguson said. She hadn't risen at Emily's outburst, apparently believing her to be in good hands. 

She looked at the two of them over the rims of her glasses, benevolent but mildly exasperated. Her hands never stopped their motions, pulling the fine, shimmering blue thread through her fabric even when she was not looking. "You really shouldn't be fussing so."

Emily whirled around to snarl at her nanny, almost clocking Corvo in the jaw with her skull. "Shut up!" she cried, glaring. Her cheeks were wet. "He took down the statues of Grandmother and Grandfather!"

Corvo hadn't been to the entrance hall yet. He hadn't even paid much attention to the rest of the Tower; on their trek to the office, he'd looked only at Jessamine's back, and at most at the corners of hallways and some half-open doors, half-prepared for one of Burrows' hidden lackeys to jump out and attack them. 

In the entrance hall, the wide, white staircase was flanked by statues of Jessamine's parents. After his wife's untimely death, Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin had commissioned a statue of her to be built. For long years it'd stood alone, overseeing the entrance hall. When Euhorn had died, Jessamine had found the same stonemason, who by then was old and gray. He'd sent his best apprentice to Dunwall, and Euhorn's statue looked remarkably like the same hands had made it that created Beatrix' likeness out of stone.

"And the floor!" Emily wailed. "He tore up the _floor!_ Mother's swans are gone!"

She buried her face in Corvo's neck again and sobbed. Corvo squeezed her a bit tighter, aghast--if Burrows had had the time to destroy the mosaic at the bottom of the stairs, which showed the Kaldwin dynasty's coat of arms, he really had planned the coup far ahead... 

Corvo imagined Burrows on the 18th, orchestrating and implementing his changes like a fat spider that'd finally climbed its way to the center of the web. He'd probably strolled around the Tower in black mourning clothes, wearing a weary, saddened expression while his eyes glinted shrewdly... he might have stood in the entrance hall, lamenting Jessamine's sudden violent death while workers took down the likenesses of her family...

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Burrows was dead; Corvo had listened to the man's last gurgling breaths himself. It wouldn't do to grow angry now. He had a daughter to soothe.

Emily quieted gradually. Now that she'd had her outburst, she seemed ready to let Corvo's broad hand on her back calm her down. She kept weeping for a few minutes, but it was more of a stress release than deep-reaching grief.

At last she sat back a little, lowering almost all her weight onto Corvo's left knee, which twinged in protest. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, drying her tears with her sleeves. On the couch, her nanny sighed, but didn't rush to offer her a handkerchief, likely sensing that the moment was not to be interrupted.

Corvo got his first good look at his daughter; she'd been in his arms so quickly. Emily had bathed and changed. Her hair was still a little damp and unadorned, and she wore a green walking suit with soft slippers.

He waited til Emily looked at him, then offered her the tapped edge of his right hand on his left palm. _'Are you alright?'_

Emily sniffled. Her eyes were red and swollen. She gave his question some thought, then pouted, and Corvo held back a relieved smile.

He knew that look, though he hadn't seen it in a while: Emily almost regretted that her outburst was over, and half-wished she'd had some physical injury to be soothed. 

"I _guess,"_ she said. Her voice scratched hoarsely. She chewed on her lip, then added, "I had a bath, but I didn't want to play with my wooden ships. Then Mrs. Ferguson made me drink a lot of tea. --She gave me a big bowl of rice pudding after, though. With berries."

That last bit she whispered to Corvo, like it was a secret. On the couch, Mrs. Ferguson smiled to herself, but pretended to be wholly engrossed in her embroidery.

Corvo's left leg was starting to fall asleep under Emily's weight. He didn't care. Emily's rage had burned itself out, and though her breath still hitched a little now and then, she was able to talk and think about her words. That was more important than the pins and needles that jabbed themselves into his calf.

_'That was nice of her,'_ he replied.

"Yes." Emily looked up at him solemnly. Her eyes were still damp. "Is Mother alright? She's not in danger anymore, is she?"

_'Not at all,'_ Corvo signed firmly. _'The Tower is well-protected.'_

"She's really busy," Emily said, half a question, testing.

Corvo inclined his head in assent. _'She has to make sure the city is safe.'_

Emily nodded back, almost regally. Her dark gaze focused solemnly on him, and for a moment Corvo had that eerie feeling again--like a part of Jessamine was looking out through Emily's eyes, an older part that understood just how momentous a task lay before the Empress...

Then Emily smiled, a small quirk at the corners of her mouth. The illusion shattered, leaving behind only a tired child. "Maybe she can have some rice pudding later," she said. She looked down at her own right hand, which rested on Corvo's coat and was scratching idly across the fabric in search of a loose thread to pick on. 

A sudden thought occurred to her, and she glanced back up at him. "Do you want some too?"

Corvo shook his head. Emily nodded in satisfaction. "I thought not," she said. "You don't like most sweet things."

She yawned, wide and unabashed, not bothering to cover her mouth with her palm. Corvo winced in sympathy as her jaw clicked a little; she had to be exhausted. A strand of dark hair clung to her cheek, and Corvo reached out slowly, giving her ample time to pull away before he tucked it behind her ear.

Emily gave him a sleepy smile, and leaned her cheek into his touch. Then her eyes widened, realizing the implications of her yawn. She looked over her shoulder at her nanny, scowling, and said loudly, "I _don't_ want a nap!"

Corvo snorted. Mrs. Ferguson took that in stride; her fingers and the thin silver embroidery needle never faltered. "I didn't say anything, your highness," she said placidly.

"No, but you were thinking it," Emily retorted. "You _always_ say I need a nap."

Mrs. Ferguson flashed her an amused smile. She pulled a long thread all the way through the taut white fabric, then pushed it flat, and Corvo spotted a leaf, green and shimmering, appearing as the thread pulled a few loops she'd made earlier down and into place.

"Indeed," Mrs. Ferguson said. "Then am I no longer permitted to think?"

Emily wrinkled her nose, trying for a stern look, though she was starting to smile. "You may," she decided, "but not about naps."

Mrs. Ferguson bowed shallowly, as much as she could while sitting down. It afforded Corvo a view of the top of her head, where her gray curls were not arranged quite as neatly as usual. "I shall endeavor to follow your orders, my lady."

Emily giggled. She leaned against Corvo's arm, pressing her cheek briefly, affectionately against the sleeve of his coat.

The Clocktower announced the quarter-hour. Corvo counted the low ring of the bigger bells, then the higher, sharper rings that followed. He winced--he didn't realize how long he'd been in here. Jessamine had to wonder if something had waylaid him--or, much worse, if something was wrong with Emily.

Emily watched his hands. Her face fell, a furrow forming between her brows, and her pout grew more pronounced with each word he signed: _'I'm sorry, Emily, but I have to go back to your mother.'_

"No!" Emily whined. Predictably, she grabbed hold of his arm, clutching at his sleeve with both hands. "You only just got here!"

Corvo shook his head slowly. His chest felt tight and painful, like a wound compressed by a too-thick bandage. How he wished he could have stayed, or at least found a way to be in two places at once--Emily needed him, but Jessamine needed him too, and he...

He almost smiled, for a moment grimly amused. But he wouldn't have to cleave himself in two, would he? If Attano were here, Corvo would have sent him to stand watch in the Empress' office while he himself stayed with Emily and kept her calm and occupied. 

"Can't you stay?" Emily asked, but her shoulders slumped already--she knew he had to go. She glanced back at the couch though, holding tight to his sleeve. "At least draw a picture with me!"

Corvo sighed, giving his daughter a tired smile. He couldn't say no to her on a regular day, let alone one as tumultuous as this one had been. _'Just one,'_ he agreed; it wouldn't take long, and if an extra few minutes were what Emily would need to let him leave without too much of a fuss, he would gladly give them to her.

They ended up on the floor by the couch, kneeling to reach the low table, and as always when they painted together, Emily gave him all of two seconds to draw on his own. Then she took over and directed him where the sun on his picture should go, where to color in the water, and a ship, and--

"A whale!" Emily commanded, holding out her pencils in several shades of dark blue. "Corvo, you _must_ have seen whales on your travels--won't you draw one for me?"

Perhaps she was a little bossier than normal, but Corvo was content to let her tell him what to do. If it helped her reassert control, that was fine with him. Mrs. Ferguson watched them with a small, dissatisfied twist to her mouth, though; it was possible she would scold Emily for her tone later. 

Corvo couldn't have brought himself to admonish her if she'd ordered him to do a handstand on the Tower's highest spires. He didn't mind her commanding tone. He just filled in his lopsided whale with dark blue, and made its eyes green the way Emily told him, and soaked up this last little bit of the quiet room and his daughter's presence before he had to go back.

***

When Corvo got back to the office, Anton Sokolov was there, along with a number of older, bearded men who had the rumpled, dazed look of scientists who'd been pulled away from some exciting experiment or other. They were talking more or less quietly, though from one elderly fellow's expansive gestures, Corvo got the inkling that they might start sniping at each other soon.

"Lord Attano," Jessamine said. "Please report."

"Absolutely not!" the elderly, gesturing man said to Sokolov, indignant. "You cannot seriously suggest that we summon Piero Joplin, that coin-tossing maniac!"

Jessamine glared at them, then looked back at Corvo, expectant. Her hands were folded in front of herself on the desk, her knuckles pale with tension. The tired shadows under her eyes seemed more pronounced, and her skin was pale in the reddish gold late afternoon light.

_'Your daughter is well, your majesty,'_ Corvo told her, trying to project calm assurance. _'She has been bathed, and I was told she has eaten a small meal. Her nanny is with her now.'_

"He is a fine scientist, no matter his disagreements with the Academy or with me!" Sokolov shot back angrily. "We need all the help we can get!"

The elderly man scowled fiercely. "Not from the likes of that scoundrel, we don't!"

Jessamine gave them another glare, then sighed and stood up. "A moment, please," she said to Corvo, ignoring the group entirely, and beckoned him towards the filing closet adjacent to her office.

It was a tall, narrow door in the corner of the room behind her desk, usually half-hidden behind a heavy curtain. Jessamine pushed the thick fabric aside, and Corvo followed her into the small room.

The space was narrow, filled with shelves crammed full of books and folders. The only light came from a single whale oil lamp that dangled from the ceiling. It cast a pale light down into the room.

Corvo sucked in the room's familiar scent of dust and paper and fought down an entirely inappropriate tickle of warmth in his chest--usually, when Jessamine ushered him in here, it was to steal a kiss or two in between debating with her secretary and signing correspondence...

It was more cramped than usual; some of the shelves were in disarray, some of their contents piled up on the marble floor. Jessamine shut the door almost all the way, though the arguing scientists could still be heard. She turned to him and said, "How is Emily really?"

Her eyes were wide in the dim light, her lashes casting strange, spiked shadows onto her cheeks. The pale light washed out her complexion until she looked almost ashen.

_'She seems composed enough,'_ Corvo replied. _'She cried a little when I arrived. She was upset about the entrance hall.'_

"Yes, I've heard of Burrows' new design choices," Jessamine said darkly. "The statues will be back up soon enough, he didn't have time to dispose of them. Mrs. Roberts said he stashed them in one of the pantries, of all places."

Corvo snorted, then held himself back; it wasn't really something to laugh at. But the mental image of Euhorn Jacob Kaldwin's stern, stone-hewn face amidst loaves of bread and dried sausages seemed quite funny in his tired state.

Jessamine sighed and massaged her forehead. She pressed her mouth into a thin line. "I wish I could be with her," she blurted out. Her voice trembled a little. "But I have to... I..."

Corvo shook his head. He found himself reaching out, his hand hovering inches from Jessamine's shoulder. He could feel her warmth, and his fingertips tingled with the strange not-sensation of not quite brushing the silky fabric of her blouse...

He made himself pull away without touching her, mindful of the open door at his back. _'Emily understands. She is well-occupied with her nanny.'_ He hesitated, then added, _'She told me she wants you to have rice pudding later.'_

The corners of Jessamine's mouth tilted up in a pained smile. "Yes," she breathed, more to herself than to Corvo. "It's her favorite dessert..."

A short silence fell. The whale oil lamp flickered. In Jessamine's office, the irate scientist threatened to write a terrible review of Sokolov's most recent paper. Corvo couldn't quite hear what Sokolov said in response, but whatever it was, it caused the scientist to gasp in affront and another to choke back a laugh.

Jessamine touched his chest, brushing her fingertips over the fabric of his coat. Her eyes were hooded, distant. "Corvo," she whispered, not a summons or a question, just a simple exhalation of his name.

Corvo held still as she fidgeted with the lapels of his coat, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and running her fingernails over the weave of the fabric. He was hard-pressed not to gently push her hands away; her office was right behind him, and though he was reasonably sure no one would barge in on them, the back of his neck still crawled with the anxiety of having the door at his back.

Jessamine took a deep breath and shook herself a little. "And you?" she asked. "How are you holding up?"

Corvo blinked at her, nonplussed. _'I'm fine,'_ he told her, tapping his right thumb against the side of his chest while spreading his other fingers. He wasn't the one buried up to his eyeballs in paperwork, or picking listlessly at an embroidery project on the other side of the Tower...

"Of course," Jessamine said, with a small, dry smile. She sucked on her lip, looking up at him worriedly. "I... I am sorry about that blasted poster. I didn't know it was there, or I would've told someone to take it down before you saw..."

Corvo shook his head. The poster, of all things, was not one of the things he was presently concerned about. Yes, it'd given him a turn to see his own countenance scowling down from the back of her office, but...

His hands rose, his fingers moving quite on their own accord. _'You knew,'_ he signed, motioning carefully with his fingertips at his temple. His joints creaked with reluctance, like his body itself was loath to question her, but he kept on. _'That Burrows claimed I had killed you.'_

Jessamine flinched, the lines around her eyes tightening, but nodded. She didn't look surprised; perhaps she'd been waiting for him to confront her. Her hands dropped, and she entwined her fingers over her stomach, her left thumb rubbing restlessly over the back of her other hand.

"It was in the Gazette yesterday morning," she said. Her voice trembled a little, but she made herself look up and meet his eyes. "And they... there was that man last night who tried to put up a poster. Callista yelled at him, remember?"

They shared a quick smile. Jessamine breathed out, her shoulders drooping with relief--perhaps she'd feared Corvo would stare stonily at the memory and withdraw, turn away and walk back out into her office.

Jessamine's hands twitched, and she clutched harder at her own fingers, as though to keep herself from reaching out to him. "Are you angry?"

Corvo shook his head automatically, though he was in fact not quite sure. Something made his stomach sink, like missing a step going down some stairs, but he didn't think it was outright anger.

"It's just, I knew it would hurt you terribly," Jessamine said in a rush, peering anxiously at him. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "And I-- I needed you undistracted."

Corvo exhaled. That, he could understand. Yes, he would have preferred not to hear about his supposed crime from Lady Gertrude Dobrev, of all people, and in front of Jessamine's whole court, at that... 

But it was over and done with, and there was nothing Jessamine could do now to soften the gut-wrenching horror he'd felt at the accusation, a deep revulsion that would surely rear its head again for many sleepless nights to come.

He raised his loose right first to his temple, pointing out his index finger, and tried to mean it wholeheartedly. _'I understand.'_

"Well, if you say so," Jessamine said doubtfully. Her gaze was searching, worried.

This time, it was him who reached out. He placed his palm over her clenched hands, worming his fingers in between hers. Her skin was a little clammy, and for a moment she hardly appeared to be breathing at all. Corvo winced--he hadn't wanted to make her worry so--and when he drew her to him, she followed.

"I'm still sorry," Jessamine said after a moment, muffled against his shoulder. 

They stood so close that Jessamine's left shoe was pressed tightly against the side of his boot. Her hands were on his back, her face tucked against his collar. He held her gently, wincing every time the fine fabric of her shirt caught on his calluses.

Corvo curled his middle and ring fingers in and pressed thumb, pointer, and littlest finger gently against her back. He knew she'd understood when she let out a trembling breath and leaned harder against him, her hands clenching in his coat. The not-quite-neat hair at the crown of her head tickled his chin.

If he let his vision unfocus a bit, the narrow room could have been a part of Jessamine's bedroom, or perhaps her dressing room. He could almost feel the thick carpet under his boots, the faint scent of her perfume that clung to her private chambers. 

_Soon,_ he told himself. Soon they would get to be alone, unobserved, free to hold each other for as long as they needed. Not quite yet--there was still work to be done.

They would head back out in a moment, and Jessamine would talk to the scientists and quiet their ongoing argument. For now, Corvo breathed in the scent of her hair and the traces of sweat that clung to her after the long day, and did his best to ignore the door at his back.


End file.
